Freedom in a Syringe
by Anton M
Summary: A short story of an ungainly ballet dancer and a guy who's perpetually irritated by her blushing. Written for Bronzehairedgirl620's Leukemia & Lymphoma Society Fundraiser Compilation. AH
1. I

**Disclaimer:** The Twilight Saga and its inclusive materials are copyright to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fiction, and thus, prescriptions in this story are not implied nor intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice.

**A/N:** In my haste to submit the story, I forgot to include a note to thank JavaMasta for her kindness and a beautiful banner, and Bronzehairedgirl620 for generously allowing me to contribute along with such talented authors I should be weeping under a table with a consolation lollypop. Thank you for the opportunity to contribute in my own way.

I will post this Brobdingnagian "one-shot" in five parts.

* * *

><p><strong>Freedom in a Syringe<strong>  
>by Anton M.<p>

**I**

: :

"In those days," continued Ishvar, "it seemed to me that that was all one could expect in life. A harsh road strewn with sharp stones and, if you were lucky, a little grain."

"And later?"

"Later I discovered there were different types of roads. And a different way of walking on each."

— Rohinton Mistry, _A Fine Balance_, page 468

: :

A brown-eyed woman sixty three years of age eyed the black piece of plastic in her lap. Colorful round buttons formed rows and columns for reasons she could not grasp, and as she turned it upside down, she observed the two barrel-shaped metal objects in a rectangular hole. The woman frowned. She could've sworn she knew its purpose, but it didn't come to her.

As she raised her eyes and found a girl rustling around the living room, she couldn't recall the reason, either.

"Where are you going?"

Her unsurprised daughter buttoned up her grey coat as she responded, "I already told you. I'm going to take a few extra classes for ballet. I'll be back at nine."

Momentarily satisfied, Renee nodded and moisturized her lips with sweetened white tea. "You're out too much. Remember when we used to sit and play scrabble for the whole day?" Her eyes lit up. "We could do it tomorrow! Do you think Charlie would like that?"

Bella hunched and shut her eyes as she inhaled. She was going to be so late she didn't know if her temporary teacher would still be there to wait for her. She had had to feed Alice and put her into bed after her seizure; Alice had a television to keep her company, but Bella reminded herself to ask her neighbor Jasper to stop by. She couldn't count on her mother. She already worked at a restaurant during weekends and Tuesdays to help her family.

Losing a father once had been bad enough, now Bella should've had to bring the news to her mother every time she asked. But she didn't.

"Yes." Bella pursed her lips. "Ask him later."

Renee visibly perked up and smiled. "I will."

Her attention was caught by Dr. Phil. Renee's eyes were glazed and hand shook a little. Her puffy silver hair surrounded her wrinkle-covered face and made her seem much older than she was. Renee had been forty three at the time Alice was born and forty five when she gave birth to Bella. The youngest daughter had never asked how her mother had the courage to have another child after the genetic accident of the first one. She simply didn't think Renee would be able to answer that. Bella kissed her on the forehead.

"Take care of yourself. I'll be right back."

The woman, taken aback by the action, tore her eyes from the television, and jerked back. "Who are you?"

Bella made sure she had keys in her pocket before she hauled a bag over her shoulder and left. The door clicked locked. She hopped downstairs and knocked five times on the scratched door. Her downstairs neighbor, a twenty-three year old blonde bohemian who studied to become a psychologist greeted her with a genuine smile. Bella liked to think that Jasper would have accepted her offer to date had he not been openly gay. Bella, apparently, had little experience distinguishing between a straight male and a gay one. She blamed her upbringing.

"Hey, Jazz. I need a favor."

"Hi ballerina," he responded, munching on a gum. "Wanna come in for a drink?"

Bella impatiently shook her head. "I'm sorry, not today. I just wanted to know if you could check on my sister in an hour or so. I already gave Alice her medicine, so you don't have to do anything. Just check if she's breathing and all." She dropped keys into his hands and smiled. "Thanks."

Rather amused, Jasper chuckled. "You already seem to have made the choice for me."

Bella crunched her face. "No, I just… I really need to know Renee isn't making her drink sangria. In her state of mind, I wouldn't be surprised. Will you help me?"

"Always beating around the bush." Jasper set the keys on a hanger. "Of course I'll help."

"You're a life-saver," gushed Bella and kissed him on his cheek. "See you later! I'll make it up to you."

Before Jasper could respond, Bella jumped down the stairs and disappeared around the corner. Jasper returned to his scratched leather couch and continued to read _The 33 Strategies of War_ by Robert Greene. He munched on his apple-flavored gum and turned the page.

: :

The minute hand clicked behind the faded glass and pointed toward XII; an hour hand continued the vertical line in the other direction. The tall man passingly noticed, strode toward the low bench where his old hand-sewn backpack rested, and set aside his glasses. He swiped his forehead with a towel, lit a bluish halogen light in the corner and put on his contact lenses. He revealed a white roundish bottle with a pink label. In black capitalized letters, it read, 'VALPROIC ACID.' It was 2-propylpentanoic acid, or C8H16O2, a fairly simple chemical formula; most commonly used in cases of depression, bipolar disorder, epilepsy and schizophrenia.

He habitually inserted the plastic syringe, turned the bottle upside down and pulled the plunger until it read 7 milliliters. He set it aside, uncovered Snickers, gulped it down and absent-mindedly eyed the pink liquid in his little plastic syringe. After a minute of staring, he calmly raised his chin and emptied the barrel into his mouth. It tasted awful, like a bad cherry candy with a sour-bitter side-taste. He recalled an idea from the father of toxicology who had proposed that only dosage differentiated poison from harmless matter. Edward couldn't recall the author's name, but agreed nevertheless. He washed the liquid down with half a bottle of water and washed the syringe in the bathroom.

There were no new messages in his phone; not even from his girlfriend.

The minute hand pointed at III as he turned off the light and continued to stretch. The fitness center had a view of the rainy Vineland Road. Considering that it was the end of the rush hour, the traffic could be seen as fairly light. But instead of worrying Edward, it frustrated him. According to Rose, her friend was "a punctual and conscientious girl." His sister's estimation of the girl, Betty or Becky or Barbara — he did not, in fact, care enough to ask — had not only been misguided by personal opinion, it was wrong. Edward figured that perhaps the girl backed out and decided not to come. After all, if she did show her face, she would already be forty five minutes late.

Edward decided to wait for another fifteen minutes.

He had briefly met her a couple of times, but they hadn't spent enough time together to get past the commonplace politeness. Rose had explained that the girl needed private lessons or she would fall behind in her lessons in Central Florida Ballet Academy. Edward had immediately refused. He hadn't taught anyone since the Russian girl Tanya two years ago, and in the world of ballet training, two years could suppress even the most skillful dancer's talents. Being fit was crucial. But in either case, he did not dance ballet any more. Edward attended the University of Florida, School of Architecture, and had his Master's Research Project to think about. He had no will to waste his time with amateurs. But Rose, knowing his weakest spot, played on his fears and after an hour-long discussion, forced him to backtrack from his refusal. His sister had only known B-something for a year, but somehow, the new girl had not been intimidated by Rose. They befriended. Edward couldn't understand how Rose could have something in common with such a forgettable girl.

Girls' dressing room's light was switched on and the wooden floor reflected it; the old room that used to be a ballet studio was now occasionally used as a spare room for aerobics and Latin Ballroom dancing. It creaked a lot, but it was perfect for practices like this one.

Edward sat on the only window sill, waiting as he listened to her rushed footsteps, the rustling of clothes and a peep that must have signaled the girl switching off her phone. He realized he was more frustrated by her presence than the alternative. Had she not turned up, he would have simply had proven his point to Rose. He would have had more time for his project. He would not have had to wear tights.

The girl appeared and closed the door. "Hello?"

Her scared voice echoed in the empty room. The curtains in front of the windows made the room quite dark, and Edward decided not to answer to see how she would act. The girl started to feel the walls for a light-switch, but after she found one, she switched it on and dropped her phone to the sound of Edward's voice.

"You're late."

A short pale girl stared at Edward with wide eyes before she picked up her mobile phone and set it on the bench.

"I'm sorry, I..." her voice faded as she straightened. "I had a few things to handle." She averted her eyes.

"Do you want to be here?"

She eyed the beige walls, the dark wooden floor, the wall-size mirror and the lonely window a side of which Edward had opened earlier. She stepped closer to the center of the room, but hesitated. "Um, yes."

"But?"

"No but," she argued. "I do want to be here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"And what is your name?"

If she was surprised by Edward's lack of knowledge, she concealed it well. "Bella."

"I'm Edward."

"I know," replied the girl. Edward eyed her as he pushed himself off the only window sill and walked next to her. She cocked her head back to see his face. Edward stood a little awkwardly with his hands on his sides and the awful taste of medicine still in his mouth.

"Here's how this is. Everyone can find excuses. If a person doesn't want to do something, they'll find an excuse not to do it. Do you agree?"

She was a little taken aback by Edward's quiet insistence, but recovered quickly. He hoped she hadn't expected a pat on the back and a smile. "I think so."

"I expect you to take this seriously."

She gulped. "Of course, sir—Edward." Gaining confidence, Bella proudly lifted her chin and looked into his eyes. "I do want to be here." Her expression hung between fear and childish eagerness. She had brown eyes, matching hair in a bun and a child-like quality in her uncomfortable posture. She wore grey tights, a darker T-shirt with the words 'Punctuality is the virtue of the bored.' The piece of cloth was too big for her. Edward's eyes lingered on the mocking sentence long enough for Bella to notice and shift her weight on her right foot. He continued without a comment.

"You'll have plenty of time to prove it," he said. "I do not care what your excuse is today, but you will not be late again. If an emergency comes up, I expect you to notify me. You have my number. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll give you half an hour to warm up before we begin. Today is just a matter of understanding your weaknesses and setting goals. Do you have any questions?"

She lowered her eyes and muttered to his chest. "Just one."

He raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment. She realized he was not about to urge her to continue and cleared her throat. "Just one. I— um, I wanted to know if there's any possibility we could change the training on Tuesday to Thursday?"

"And leave Monday unchanged?"

"Um, yes." She was quick to back-track. "I mean, we can leave it as it is, but I can't guarantee I won't be late again next Tuesday."

He eyed her forehead in silence. To put his life-long friend's hypothesis to practice, Edward had Taekwondo on Thursday evenings and Saturday mornings at 6251 Commerce Park Drive. It was a ten-minute drive, but the practice itself lasted for two hours. He shook his head. "Thursday is unsuitable."

Her face fell.

"Unless you agree to come here at ten in the evening."

She finally stopped looking at his chest area and locked eyes with him. "I wouldn't mind at all. But what about Friday?"

"I prefer to keep all Fridays unoccupied."

She offered Edward a pursed-lips smile. It wasn't irritated, but not particularly fond either; just distantly polite. "Thursday at ten it is."

He nodded, put on his CD and not long after, Jem's _24 _started to play. Bella frowned, probably waiting for an excerpt from Schubert's _Rosamunde_ or Tchaikovsky's _Waltz of the Flowers_. For the first few seconds, she simply stared at him with wide eyes. He shrugged. Eleven seconds into the song, the violins joined in, and Bella started to get Edward's idea. She offered him a genuine smile. Edward returned a meager variation of it.

For the first fifteen minutes, he observed Bella's five leg and arm positions and other movements. She had a problematic posture, and while her leg movement was good (but not great), she didn't seem to know what to do with her hands. Her coordination left much to be desired. Edward didn't think he had ever seen such an ungraceful ballerina before. She got the rhythm, she knew the movements, but she lacked fluidity. She lacked grace.

When Bella had been in the focus of his attention for a quarter of an hour, he stretched and joined the warm-up. She knew Edward kept his eyes on her and probably fumbled more than she would have if he hadn't been there, but as a ballerina, she would have to get used to the attention sooner or later. _The Who_ by Baba O'Riley let him know half an hour was almost over. Edward stopped moving.

"What do you think are the things you should work on?" asked Edward over the music.

She paused and looked at him. "Um, I think jumps and coordination. And leg movement."

"We'll get to jumps. You're occasionally uncoordinated, we'll have to fix that. But you're wrong about leg movement. Your hand movement is far worse. And your posture is similar to a person who's afraid of being hit. I'm not about to hit you. Straighten your back."

She slowly, as if testing the waters, leaned back her shoulders. He stepped in front of her, placed his hands on her ribcage and squeezed gently, tilting her upper body away from him. She flushed. Edward huffed under his breath.

"Bella, I'm not here to feel you up. I have zero intention to seduce you. Do you trust me?"

"Um, yes."

He didn't want to hear hesitation. Edward place a hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder, letting her know how she should stand. "Raise your chin."

She tilted it up.

"There. This is how you will stand from now on, either dancing, buying hygiene products or being belittled by your new teacher. Don't look like you accept humiliation. Don't _accept_ humiliation."

She didn't blink as she nodded slowly.

"Good. Now, your legs aren't long enough for a classical ballet dancer, so you'll need to work twice as hard to get it a hundred percent right. That's why I know you'll be working hard — you have no choice. Don't take it as a disadvantage; take it as an opportunity to prove yourself. Your hand movement is almost zero. No coordination whatsoever. We'll work on a few pure coordination exercises. Do you agree to dedicate your time to that?"

She gave Edward the polite pursed lips smile. "Yes."

"You switch postures too abruptly. One movement needs to grow to the other smoothly, you need to look more like you're gliding or about to gain invisible wings. Not like you discovered a snake from your drawer. And doing crutches, you breathe randomly. You need to exhale when your muscles are tense — raising your head and arms — and inhale when your muscles relax — lowering them. Remember that. Who are your ballet teachers?"

"Um, what does that have to do with anything?"

"More than you know. Who are they?"

"There's Gary Banner, James Herby, Jessica Stanley..."

"Don't listen to a word Banner says, try to watch his movements instead. He explains in a way only the Greek understand. Be careful with Herby, the rumors are not exaggerating. Don't get too close to him. But he has connections, so pay attention when one of the heads of ballet studios decides to pay a visit. Stanley is afraid of being firm, so when she says 'you should' take it as a 'must.' Do they comment on your hand movement?"

"A little. They're more worried about my legs."

"The way you were built is important, but not crucial. Focus is crucial. When they criticize your legs, pay no attention. Just work twice as hard. Why are you wearing a T-shirt at least three sizes too big for you?"

She stepped out of his hands and averted her eyes. "Um, is it important?"

"Yes. I can't see your movements under that tent you're wearing."

She flushed a little, but gave him no answer. This time, Edward decided to push her. "Is there a specific reason?"

"It's embarrassing."

"I can see that. I'm a guy who's been to a ballet school, I know all about embarrassing. Why?"

Tentatively, Bella stared at the floor as she muttered, "My breasts are too big."

"I see." He showed no emotion. "What do you have underneath this tent?"

She flushed further. "Um, a sports top."

"Strip."

"Excuse me?"

"Strip. Take off your tent."

She pursed her lips, and not as a smile this time. She took it off, threw it on the bench and crouched worse than before. He stepped closer and placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning them back. "Hey. No hunching." He took a quick glance at her problem, and wasn't surprised it was mostly created by the teachers and co-dancers, if not her mind. "C-cup could be a problem, but I assume you are B. Most ballet dancers are A as I understand. You don't have much to worry about."

She frowned and hesitated. "The teachers think they are."

"The teachers think they are morons?"

She huffed a chuckle. "That they are too big."

"Egos?"

This time, she laughed. Her face was still red, but Edward seemed to convince her to let go of her tent. He released her shoulders and simply stood in front of her. "Do you have any questions?"

"It's not a question, but... um. This seems more like a lesson of confidence and movement than actual ballet. I—I think I imagined something else."

"Are you unhappy with this so far?"

"No, just surprised."

"We'll get to the ballet part. Right now, you need to have your fundament strengthened. Only then we'll get to the serious part. Do you have a specific date or will we finish with the lessons when you've reached our goals and improved your movements?"

"Um, I'd agree on both. Our grade has an audition for _The Nutcracker_ on the 13th of October. We all have parts in it, so if I'm not good enough for a better part, I'll probably be one of the background dancers. I'll need help after that, too."

"But you would like to dance one of the main parts."

She lifted one of her shoulders and smiled slightly. "Of course. But I'm not good enough and I know people in my class much more likely to be chosen as main dancers."

Edward stared at her eyes without blinking for so long it made Bella uncomfortable. She lowered her gaze. He continued, "What would you say if I told you that you can have one of the main parts? With enough focus."

Bella shook her head. "That's a month away. I won't be good enough quickly enough."

"But I'll teach you to learn. You'll practice. If that's what you want, you can have it, but you can't wriggle out of any practice. No excuses."

She contemplated, but had already figured she would try her best under his guidance. She nodded, and suddenly, a question her schoolmates (and Bella) had pondered on slipped out of her mouth.

"If you're good enough to teach others, why did they throw you out of ballet school?"

She paled as she realized her straight-forward question. He curtly shook his head, acting as if he heard nothing, walked to the stereo and put on _Port de bras_, Etudes II by Robert Long. For the next two hours, he guided her dancing and showed her coordination exercises to practice for the next Monday. She noticed the way he acted more indifferently toward her than before, and considered apologizing, but couldn't gather her guts to do it.

"Do you want to do a jump together? _Pas de deux_?" inquired Edward when Wendy Boots came on; the last song, just like the first one, had little to do with classical ballet. Bella hadn't realized Edward spoke of her for full ten seconds before she snapped out of it.

"You mean with me?"

"No, with the poltergeist standing behind you," answered Edward impatiently. "With you, of course."

"Um. I'm not sure how good I am at that, but we can try."

"We can start with _the promenade_ and _the fish_ before attempting a jump," said Edward. Bella hesitatingly took a position _on pointe_. He placed a hand on her waist and walked around her, turning her body. She had no problems keeping balance, but she flushed.

It continued to annoy Edward. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

Bella lowered her heels to the ground. "A little. I'm prone to blush, though, so just ignore it."

Irritated, Edward sighed and waited as Bella took an _arabesque_ position. He lifted her as she folded her bottom leg up, and swung her back so she could make a curve close to the ground.

"You're too stiff. You were flexible before."

Bella pursed her lips. Why couldn't he be satisfied with anything?

"I'm sorry."

"I don't care you're sorry. I want to feel you bend as you did before," scolded Edward, unpleased. "Are you scared of me or men in general?"

She held his gaze. "I'm not afraid of you. Or men."

"Then prove it."

She repeated _the fish_ seven times before Edward was remotely satisfied with her performance. It was almost nine o'clock when he trusted her to trust him. He wanted her to jump into his arms from quite far.

Bella shook her head. "You're insane. That's a risky thing to do. I'll crush you and then we'll both end up in the hospital."

"Is it just me or do you always refuse to oblige orders?" snapped Edward.

Bella shut her eyes and took a deep breath, much like she did when her mother would ask the same questions over and over again. She reminded herself that he was, after all, her teacher, and she was in no position to be honest. _It's you. You're a pathological perfectionist._

Edward, having seen her reaction, asked with a calmer voice, "Have you ever fed medicine to a cat?"

"I— Excuse me?"

"Have you?"

She had noticed his tendency to ask seemingly irrelevant questions, but this surprised her so much she forgot her irritation. Bella frowned. "I haven't. I used to have a dog when I started to go to school, but it ran away when I was twelve."

Edward shove a hand through his hair. "I have. We had a cat named Kate who needed to have some pill against having kittens. I held her down between my legs and put it between her yaw. I succeeded, but she started to clapperclaw and in the end, I think I was more harmed than she was. I still have the scars."

Bella continued to scowl. It felt like he had suddenly decided have a conversation about your favorite Mozart composition with your horse.

"Edward — Are you alright?"

He shrugged and offered her a faint smile. "Yes. I actually have a point. You're me. I'm the kitten. If you fall, I'm the one to get hurt."

Bella let out an awkward chuckle. "'cause that's encouraging. I don't want to be responsible for your death."

"Like you have the chance of hurting me," said Edward, growing frustrated again. "All I ask is for you to try."

Bella took a moment to eye him with skepticism before she turned around and put his CD on shuffle. _Adagio in_ _G-minor_ by Tomaso Albinoni started to play. She faced him, took the moment to brace herself and tiptoed around him before gaining ground and jumping into his arms. She held her breath. He caught her, twirled her around and solemnly placed her on the floor.

"See, that wasn't so bad."

Edward stopped the music, strolled toward his bag and left Bella nearly breathless in the middle of the floor. He picked up his backpack and turned about to bid her goodbye, but his sewn bag tore open and filled the floor with items. Bella rushed to help him. Edward attempted to shrug her off, but she would not go. Thus, in the middle of papers and a towel lay a white bottle with a pink label and an awfully familiar smell.

"Why do you need this?" questioned Bella. She understood the purpose of the medicine, but Edward possessing a bottle she could not comprehend. Without uttering a word, Edward snapped the bottle from her hands and threw it into his broken backpack.

"Unimportant."

He held the bag in front of him with two hands and nodded as a goodbye. Bella sat alone on the floor, watching the dressing room's door silently close. She stood up, took her coin and turned off the lights.

: :

Edward picked up the remnants of his bag and searched for the key in the pocket of his jeans. The white one-storied building on the neat-lawn Chestnut Street in Clermont sat in the middle of other mundane one-storied buildings. It was a thirty minute drive from Vineland Road. Up until last month, Edward hadn't come to his father's place often, but ever since he began looking for a new apartment to live in, Edward did not have a choice. He crashed at Carlisle's place.

Having unlocked the door, Edward walked through the hallway and into the tidy kitchen, where he could finally set aside his broken backpack. He turned on the lights and opened a brown pack of Tim Hortons. The package derived from a coffee shop in Ottawa where his mother worked. She provided enough Arabica coffee to last a lifetime. Perhaps she felt guilty she moved away from her children after convincing them to settle in the States, but without exceptions, the same brown package arrived every first week of the month.

Edward felt his knees buckle as he walked toward the fridge. He gripped the counter in vain before he collapsed to the floor. His body started to shake.


	2. II

**Freedom in a Syringe  
><strong>by Anton M.

**II**

Bella had already called Rosalie when she reached her wooden door on the third floor and suddenly realized she'd given her key to Jasper. But as she grasped the door-handle, she found the door unlocked. After setting her coat aside and entering the living room, she was reminded by the reason she had wanted to go out with Jasper: he got along with her sister phenomenally well. Bella could never date a man who didn't accept her sister as she was. Alice was sitting (but more leaning than sitting) on the floor against the soft armchair and looking at Jasper's hands in wonder. He held an origami swan and lowered his face to look into Alice's eyes.

"You like that, don't you?" asked Jasper, setting it in her lap. He chucked as Alice started to laugh. Her laugh could easily be confused with crying as it mixed loud breathing and awkward coughing. Her eyes squinted and mouth opened. Jasper and Bella had gotten used to her laughter long ago.

"If she had a say in this, she would probably choose you over her little sister," mused Bella after taking away the wine glass from her sleeping and coughing mother. Jasper's head snapped up. He was still smiling.

"Probably."

He stretched his arm in front of Alice and moved the origami swan back and forth to make it seem like the swan was floating. Alice cocked her head back and kept laughing. Pleased with himself, Jasper lowered his hand and took a glance at his opened book. He playfully nudged Alice before he picked up his book and stood up to leave. Bella reached for her bag and extracted Gilbert Ryle's 1949 paperback edition of _The Concept of Mind_. She had purchased it by pure chance from Haslam's Book Store from the used books section a few weeks ago and now finally remembered to give it to Jasper. He was eyeing it warily, but not without eagerness.

Bella placed it on his other book. "I remembered you used to like Descartes. This one's criticizing, but I think you'll like the approach." She also took out a set of keys and dropped them in his palm.

He nodded without a word, closed his palm around the cold metal and stared at the book. Jasper frowned. "But my birthday is not until March."

She shrugged. "It's for what you've done to Alice and for helping me. It's a used book, so it's not exactly a fancy gift." Bella noticed his reluctance to take it and knew he would argue until she took it back. To avoid that from happening, she firmly placed her hands on Jasper's shoulders, turned him around and guided him to the door. "Don't argue."

He could barely mutter a surprised thank you before she shut the door behind him and returned to the living room. Watching Alice, Bella realized she should have asked Jasper to help her put Alice to bed, but she didn't want to go back. So she hunkered down next to Alice, placed her stomach on her shoulder and carefully stood up. She wasn't heavy, but neither was Bella, so getting to the other room without straining her back or falling became an arduous task. She nearly threw Alice to her own bed and immediately made sure she wasn't hurt. She wasn't.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

Bella woke up her mother who, disorientated, focused her eyes on a Koodo advertisement before locking eyes with her daughter. Bella patiently offered a hand to her mother to help her stand up. Renee couldn't stop coughing.

"Mom, are you alright?"

"Fine, fine," she assured.

"Do you want me to make you some tea? Are you hungry?"

"No, I'm tired," answered Renee as she fumbled out of the living room. "Maybe tomorrow."

Bella nodded and gathered a few notebooks. She piled the papers before she walked to her room and laid them in her two-people bed. Alice had not fallen asleep yet, she never did when Bella wasn't by her side; which is why Bella studied in her bed. She changed Alice's diapers, kissed her forehead and placed her little television on the bed with the ever-endless _My Fair Lady_ in the DVD case. It was 10:30 when she finally stopped sitting cross-legged to empty her mind and turned her attention to her books.

She fell asleep five minutes later.

: :

Edward felt the cold tile floor under his chin. He breathed through his mouth. The desperate sound, a wheezing dry cough mixed with the buzzing of the coffee machine. Edward tore on the edge of the jacket so it would fall on him, and lay in a more comfortable position on his left side. He rested his head on his arm and took deep, deliberate breaths. He kept shivering. It took him a minute to understand where he was and how he got there. Edward lay on the floor, limp and exhausted, for another five minutes before he trusted himself to sit. He could easily have another seizure.

When nothing had happened for ten minutes, Edward slowly stood up and poured himself hot coffee. Shortly thereafter, the door slammed shut and his little sister appeared from around the corner. Rosalie stood at around 5'8'', had a slim body and graceful movements. As Edward eyed her, he noted how straight she held her back; entirely opposite of Bella's hunching.

Rosalie put a grocery bag on the counter. "Hi Edward."

"Hi," he responded with a tired smile. He absent-mindedly observed her as she put away the groceries and poured herself coffee. Rosalie didn't like the Arabica coffee from Tim Hortons, but she seemed far too tired to care. She made a grimace when she'd tasted it, but didn't comment.

"So, how'd it go?" asked Rosalie.

Edward shrugged. He poured himself another cup as Rosalie took raspberry yoghurt out and started eating it. "I hear you don't like her."

He raised an eyebrow and almost indifferently mused, "I think it's the other way around. She hates me."

"She does not," argued Rosalie. "She's just… overloaded with stuff."

"But everyone is, Rosalie. How is her stuff more important that others'?"

Wanting to defend her friend, she raised her chin as she spoke. "Why do you think so?"

Edward didn't have the strength to start arguing with Rosalie, so he chose not to complain about Bella's colossal disinterest in being on time. Instead, he fell silent.

"How'd it go anyway?"

Edward raised and lowered his shoulders. "I thought you already talked to her."

"But I want to hear another perspective. I can't judge you without letting you defend yourself," explained Rosalie. "So — what do you think of her?"

"Honestly?"

"No," she huffed. "I want you to lie."

Edward dismissed her comment and stared at his cup. "Bella is one of least graceful ballerinas I've ever seen."

Rosalie wasn't the least bit surprised. "But can you help her?"

He pondered on the answer.

"Yes," he finally admitted. "If that's what she wants."

"That's all I need to hear," replied Rosalie. She put the lid on her yoghurt and sighed. "How's Lauren doing, by the way?"

Edward shrugged. He felt like all he could do today was shrug, and he couldn't bring himself to care about Lauren if the feeling was not mutual. He'd been tired of continuously initiating things between them, and as an experiment of sorts, he stopped trying. She hadn't contacted him for two weeks now. As a result, he had phoneless nights and as he now realized, a girlfriend who could not care less about him.

"Honestly? No idea. Haven't heard from her for a while now."

Knowing what too much dependence could do to a relationship, but not wanting to pry, Rosalie asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he replied with a slight smile. "Not really. Thanks for the offer, though. I might just accept your help one day."

Rosalie smiled and nudged her big brother before they moved on to other topics.

: :

September turned into October with Bella working harder than she had ever worked before. At first, Edward turning out to be such a strict teacher had intimidated her. In retrospect, Bella thought the crush she'd had on her friend's brother for an entire year was downright stupid. But during the first two weeks of being taught by the same man, she somewhat reevaluated her crush. She had seen how much Edward hated the effect he had on her. But she could not help but still like Edward, even if he wasn't particularly fond of his student. Nor was he remotely interested in her life outside ballet-dancing.

She had not been late since her first lesson, but she'd been close. Her mother worried her more than she usually did, and Bella felt guilty for not having found the time to go to the doctor's with her. Renee did not sometimes remember her daughters, but in addition to frequent coughing, she often complained about chest pain. It was nothing to be taken lightly. Bella called a specialist and was put on hold for seventeen minutes. Bella impatiently switched off her phone and hoped she remembered to call the doctor in the evening.

It was Thursday, the seventh of October; a week before her audition and two weeks since Renee first started to complain about chest pain. The morning had been vaguely warm, if not a little windy, and with a bag on her shoulder, Bella walked in the corridors of her ballet school. She had arrived early. On her way to the dressing room, she heard distant echoing voices. Bella couldn't make out the specifics in the distance, but as she approached, the voices got clearer.

"…heard she's taking lessons now. That's apparently why she's getting better at this."

"Better? Puh-lease. She's still one of the worst. I'm surprised she's still in this academy. I've heard Cullen's family must be rich or something, how's she paying for it?"

Bella could only make out a whisper, and felt ill as she had a rather good idea what they were saying. She stopped her pace.

"M'hmm," a knowing voice reached her. "Exactly."

Bella couldn't bring herself to open the door. She stood there, paralyzed, until a familiar voice called her name.

"Bella?"

"Rosalie," she answered with a hesitant smile. Her beautiful blonde-haired and blue-eyed friend approached with a confident posture and suspiciously eyed her crouching friend. Rosalie stopped in front of Bella.

"Why are you here so early? Why are you standing here? I had to speak to Banner, but I never thought I'd find you here at this time."

Bella looked at the white plastic door and suddenly felt like she wanted to cry. She never cried in public. "I just thought I could practice before others arrive."

Bella did not look her into the eye. Rosalie frowned and gently asked, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," responded Bella and offered her a pursed-lips smile. "I guess I'm just starting to realize the audition is only a week away. I'm nervous. Or maybe just tired."

She really did feel exhausted.

Rosalie could understand the pursed-lips smile better than the distracted words that left Bella's lips. But she didn't comment. She opened the door in front of Bella and urged her to enter. The three girls fell silent as Rosalie and Bella arrived; they greeted their classmates, smiled politely and re-engaged in gossipy conversation.

"It's not about Edward, is it?" asked Rosalie suddenly and all too loudly, surprising the girls and Bella. She flushed furiously and wanted the floor to swallow her. The girls would now probably make the wildest of assumptions and assume she was involved with her best friend's brother, which was not true.

"Of course not," replied Bella, her voice a little shakier than she wanted it to be.

: :

The same evening, a shiver ran down Bella's spine when Edward spun her around, and as always, the blush that spread across her face made Edward impatient. He huffed. Bella pretended not to notice — what else could she do? — and started to tiptoe around him. Edward stood at around 6'4'', had a lean muscled body, short reddish hair, vaguely green eyes and authoritative voice. Objectively speaking, he wasn't incredibly handsome, but he often had an intimidating expression on his face that convinced people otherwise. Edward was impatient, blunt and had acquired what Bella called a Teacher's Syndrome. At one point, all teachers forgot what they had already said to the same person and repeated their previous words.

Edward did it often, and just as often, it managed to annoy Bella. She made more mistakes than the last time, her hand movement seemed to have deteriorated to an ever worse point than she started out with, and Edward's constant reiterating infuriated her. _Don't accept humiliation, Edward? Are you the one to speak?_

"You're not taking this seriously," he reprimanded when Bella failed to move her hands the right way. "You managed quite well last time, what happened? Why are you so distracted today? Focus, Bella. Focus."

Bella imagined strangling him. Or making out with him. Preferably in the opposite order, or she would turn into a necrophile. She stopped tiptoeing and looked him straight in the eye. "But _I am_."

"If that is the best you can do, maybe we should pack our stuff and go home," snapped Edward. He was already tired from the Taekwondo earlier and did not have time for her excuses.

Bella had forgotten to call the doctor, she had practiced every night every week, she had a sister to take care of and a mother who often did not remember her, she spent her nights trying to catch up with schoolwork and weekends having a part time job at a restaurant. She was exhausted and angry and suddenly, the idea of being able to go home, throw her feet on the wall and relax didn't seem so bad. So what if she was the least graceful ballerina Edward had ever seen? So what if she couldn't dance? If she got a full-time job, Bella could gather enough money to move into a one-storied house where it wouldn't be a problem to move Alice in and out of the building with her wheelchair. She could leave school behind. She could throw the college letters into the garbage without reading them. She didn't have to try and become a lawyer.

Bella hunched and grimaced, but gave him a polite pursed smile. "Maybe we should," she admitted with defeat. "You're right. I'm not good enough." Bella stepped in front of his wide-eyed figure and decided to give him one last hug. "Thank you for everything." Feeling awkward, she placed her arms around him and squeezed. He did not hug back, so she backtracked quickly. "I'm sorry for wasting your time."

She did not wait for his answer as she turned around and started to walk away. Bella did not feel angry anymore, only sad because he genuinely seemed to dislike her and because she'd have to start rearranging her life. More than anything, she wished to graduate and enter a university, but maybe she should stop the self-delusion. She wasn't good enough.

Just as Bella reached the girls' dressing room, a pale hand appeared in front of her face and blocked her way. "So that's it? You just walk away from this?"

She didn't have time for anger. Bella avoided his gaze as she calmly responded, "What else can I do? I'm not good enough for this."

"So all those nights, you've just been wasting my time? Perfect!" he yelled. "Just perfect!"

Bella's voice, in comparison, grew quieter. "I already told you I was sorry. No-one forced you into this! I'm sorry for not being good enough, I know better now." She stepped away from him and took a deep breath. "Why _did_ you accept to teach me?"

Edward, too, took a few calming breaths and attempted to get hold of his anger. "Sorry is not good enough! I never said _you_ weren't good enough. I only wanted you to focus." His neck flushed and he tried to lock eyes with the girl, but she wouldn't buckle. Edward ran a hand through his hair in despair.

"You didn't answer my question. And why do you care anyway? You hate me. All you do is tell me what to do and what not to do and what I do wrong. I never do anything right."

"And you never will if you walk away from any difficult situation in life!" snapped Edward. He shut his eyes for a moment to think. Anger would get him nowhere. He decided to approach this matter with a mature conversation rather than yelling at the little girl as he'd previously done. Edward lowered the arm that blocked Bella's way to give her a choice. One should always have a choice.

"Could you stay for a moment so we can discuss this?" he asked with a polite nod toward the bench. Bella frowned. She did not trust people who changed moods faster than broken glass flew across the room.

"Please?" he pleaded. Bella tilted her head back to lock eyes with him. She nodded curtly and placed her bag next to the wall. Edward motioned for her to sit next to him, but Bella stubbornly chose a spot on the floor. Edward drew his conclusions — Bella still didn't feel comfortable around him. The anger had now subsided; Edward felt disappointed in himself and Bella. He silently eyed her figure as he gathered the words with which he wanted to convince Bella to stay.

He started hesitantly, but spoke calmly and with respect. "I accepted to teach you because my sister knows how to push me. She told me I refused because I hide behind my illness and use it as an excuse not to socialize with people."

Bella wrapped her arms around her knees and asked, "Is it true?"

"To a certain point, I'm sure it is."

She silently nodded. "But you still think I should continue."

"I know you should. I understand that I barely ever compliment you, and I apologize for that. But please do not throw away your own hard work. You have potential. If you didn't, I would have told you I was unable to teach you. But you do, and — excluding today's disaster — you've improved immensely during those three weeks I've taught you."

She remained silent.

Edward offered her a hesitant smile. "I understand that something is on your mind today, and we can keep it short so you can go home and deal with it. Do you want to speak about it?"

That question made him particularly self-conscious because it was a question that his mother carved into her children's heads. He almost feared a positive answer; he did not know Bella well and was completely unaware of her personal life. If it was a boyfriend matter, he would refuse without listening. He could only listen to strange women speak about heartbreak if he sat on a barstool with booze in his one hand and his own pained heart in the other. Listening to women whine how all men were asses and pigs and jerks and donkeys was not his favorite pastime.

"Well," Bella hesitated.

In spite of his better judgment, he pushed her. "Well?"

Bella flushed and played with the edge of her (this time properly-sized) shirt. "Well, if you really want to know, the girls in my class seem to think I pay you by sleeping with you."

Edward, convinced that such a ridiculous statement could be nothing but a joke, cocked his head back and chuckled with all his heart. Ten seconds later he calmed down and locked eyes with Bella. Her expression was completely unreadable, but he immediately understood she had been honest. Bella hoped he could not see it in her face deeply his reaction wounded her. She was unhappy that anyone would think she would sleep her way through life.

"You're serious," stated Edward, all signs of laughter now gone.

Bella pursed her lips. "It's nothing. I always thought I was lucky 'cause all my friends detested gossip and would never spread something they hear from someone they know. I'm just disappointed they'd think that."

After a moment of hesitation, Edward reached her and tilted her chin up. "I am sorry that such a rumor is being spread about you, but I cannot help you fight your demons."

Bella's skin tingled from where he touched her. She sighed. "I know, don't worry. I just thought you should be aware of this."

He nodded silently while Bella pondered on whether or not she wanted to pour her heart out to someone. She knew she could speak about her problems to Rosalie, but now that Edward wasn't trying to tell her what she was doing wrong and how she should hold her limbs, he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Bella decided against it. He probably had enough problems of his own, and Bella thought she might know what his illness was about. But she said nothing as she stood up and offered Edward her hand. She felt meager enthusiasm to continue, but understood that she could not give up a week before her audition.

"Truce?"

Relieved, Edward accepted her hand and stood up as a genuine smile spread across his face. "Truce."

Bella wiped her bottom from invisible dust and walked to the stereo; Tchaikovsky's _Snowflakes_ started to play. They started to practice all the basic lifts and jumps in _The Nutcracker_. Nearly at the end of the song, Bella tiptoed away from him and prepared herself to jump into his arms, but a quick glance at Edward told her he was completely unaware of his surroundings. She lowered her heels to the ground.

"Edward?"

He collapsed to the floor. Convulsions took over his body, his eyelids opened and closed rapidly, his upper body crouched and he hit his head repeatedly against the floor. Bella nearly flew to his side, crouched and struggled to hold his convulsive head in her lap. She started to count seconds as she could do nothing but watch and make sure he would not hit himself. After a minute and forty seven seconds, convulsions stopped and Edward started to take loud dry-sounding breaths. His muscles loosened and became completely limp. Bella gently placed his head on the floor before she ran to pick up her pullover from the dressing room. She returned and set it under his head. He was quivering. Bella ran back and took her towel, with which she covered his upper body. She absent-mindedly and patiently ran her hands through his soft hair as she waited for him to gain consciousness. Bella knew he might fall asleep. She would let it happen.

Like she thought, his breaths evened and deepened. Bella kept running her fingers through his hair in an attempt to soothe him. It's what she did when Alice had a seizure. After having slept for twenty minutes, Edward started to surface from his stupor. He felt gentle fingers being run through his hair and opened his eyes. Bella's gentle brown eyes looked back at him. Never before had he realized that Bella had actually beautiful dark eyes.

"You —" he cleared his throat, "you didn't call the ambulance."

Bella smiled. "And what would they have done? Taken you to the hospital, yes. But then what?"

"Thank you," he whispered, incredibly aware of her warm fingers in his hair. He shut his eyes for a few seconds. "How did you know what to do?"

"P.I.N.K.Y."

He frowned and opened his eyes. "Pinky?"

"No, not pinky, P.I.N.K.Y. Pink Icky Nauseating Killer Yolk."

Edward stared up at her (as he now realized) rather attractive face, not knowing whether to laugh or not. "What are you talking about?"

"Valproic acid is P.I.N.K.Y. It tastes disgusting."

"You've tasted it?"

Bella laughed. "Never mind that I know what it is, but when I've tasted the disgusting stuff, _then_ it's a surprise."

Edward felt awkward speaking to her from the floor, but he didn't want Bella to stop running her hands through his hair, so he didn't get up. "Speaking of which, how _do_ you know what it is?"

"My sister. She was born with a condition that requires taking it. Six milliliters, three times a day. She's in a wheelchair."

He didn't know what to say other than, "I'm sorry."

Edward could not have known that that single sentence could anger Bella more than any impatient comment about her coordination ever could. But she surprised herself by not getting irritated — probably because it was Edward Bella was speaking to — she simply honestly admitted, "Don't say that. I hate it when people tell that to me. Of course it's unfortunate, but I hate hearing about it."

Edward's neck flushed, and he was upset with himself. "I'm sorry for being sorry."

Bella's lips formed a smile before her chuckles turned into laughter. Edward joined in once he realized Bella was not upset with him. Having calmed down, Edward's eyes fell on the clock. Both of the hands pointed toward XII.

"Midnight," he sleepily murmured.

Bella, who mistakenly thought Edward was hinting at her intrusion on his personal space and wanted her to go, stopped running her hands through his hair and quietly stood up. She imagined the tingle in her fingers. Edward frowned, embarrassed, stood up and handed Bella her stuff back. He felt a little disappointed and could not understand why her presence suddenly meant so much to him.

"I'm sorry you had to go through this. I hope I didn't hurt you when I was having a seizure. Thank you."

Bella accepted her towel and pullover. She shrugged. "It was nothing."

Edward stepped closer to her, and like many times before, cocked her chin up. "It was not nothing, Bella. You helped me. You didn't freak out. That isn't nothing. I'm sincerely thanking you."

She couldn't figure out why or how Edward got so humble, but something about him seemed to have changed. He wasn't acting like a teacher who always had a cutting comment. He was just being Edward: a guy grateful for someone who was there when he woke up. Bella purposefully didn't let herself get too into it. She did not need empty hopes.

"I'm glad I could help."

Edward nodded. Bella started to walk away, but hesitated after a few steps and turned about. "See you on Monday?"

"But of course." Edward smiled modestly. Bella waved as she left the room.

: :

Edward liked Taekwondo, but he wasn't built for it. The Korean martial art provided the exercise Emmett thought Edward needed and taught him a thing or two about self-defense, but he saw mere nonsensical procrastination in meditation. To be sitting in a room filled with kneeling people in their _dobok_s with their eyes closed and being told to clear his mind wasn't his favorite pastime. The first lesson seemed the most ridiculous; the instructor had fallen silent and their assignment was to let go of all thoughts.

He felt cold. He wanted to scratch his nose. He could smell a hotdog. He felt stupid and now he was hungry.

As the lessons progressed Edward realized it wasn't going to be getting any better. He wasn't cut out for emptying his mind. Instead, he started to think of his Master's Research Project in Architecture, resume for finding a proper job after graduating and next week's schedule. For Edward, the meditation became a moment of his day which he dedicated to planning his time.

Today, he thought of Bella's audition. They'd worked hard on Monday, and with a few weaknesses here and there, he'd sent her home with relative confidence. Nothing similar could be said about Bella because her insecurities shielded her away from possible achievements. Edward didn't like the uncertainty that could kill her potential.

Monday had been different; they'd somehow managed to have a friendlier relationship. Edward refrained himself from being too commanding and asked for her opinion on many occasions. After last Thursday, Edward had realized that he wanted Bella to understand what is right and why, not force his opinions on her. He could see it surprised her. But she obviously appreciated his effort and they even joked around each other. With the exception of his family members, Edward had never felt comfortable around a person who had seen him having a seizure. He couldn't remember his seizures, not ever, but he knew how ominous it could look like. How vulnerable he could feel.

The girl astounded him. Edward had expected to wake up in a hospital as he often did when he had a seizure in a public place, but Bella had known not to call them. It felt as if he suddenly saw the girl for the first time. Edward never bothered to be interested in her life because he hadn't really cared; he just wanted her to improve her movements. But now, he felt vague bitterness toward his so far indifferent behavior. Bella didn't deserve to be treated as if her life meant nothing.

He hoped she'd done well in her audition, not only as her teacher, but as a friend of sorts who wanted her to succeed because she deserved it. He didn't think he could call himself her friend yet, but hell, he felt bad for his behavior so far.

"That's it for today."

As well as being the first part of the lesson, meditation was also the ending to their practice. Edward stood, took a few minutes to stretch, and went to have a shower. He stopped by a 24/7 Starbucks – Edward wanted to buy a cup for Bella as well, but thought against it — and arrived at Vineland Road half to ten; he didn't change out of his jeans. Edward took out his glasses case for later, pulled the syringe until it read 7 milliliters and balanced it on his carton coffee cup as he stepped into the dark empty hall. He didn't bother turning the lights on, instead, he slowly sat on the low bench and took a sip from his coffee. Edward emptied the disgusting pink syrup into his mouth and washed the syringe in the bathroom. He drank all of his black coffee as he waited.

Five to ten, the lights of the girls' changing room went on, and at X sharp, Bella entered the dark hall. She let the door close behind her and simply stood, frozen.

"Edward?"

"Here," he answered silently, and Bella's body jerked a little.

"Whoa, you scared me," said Bella. "Why are you always sitting in the dark when I get here?"

"I like the dark."

Bella walked closer to where she heard his voice from. "Why?"

"Because I want to like it."

Her eyes started to adjust to the dark and she sat next to him at a comfortable distance. Neither of them said a word as Edward waited for Bella to fill him in on which part she got and Bella waited for Edward to explain why he was not wearing tights. Bella had also not seen him wearing glasses, and after a moment of consideration, she decided they suited him. They sat until Edward broke the silence.

"When was the last time you ate?" inquired Edward more forcefully than he intended. Bella hunched and the polite pursed lips smile appeared on her face; she felt as if he were accusing her of not eating enough. Always accusing.

"Why?" she carefully responded. "I don't have eating problems, you know, Rose can tell you all about it, I swear I —"

"No," corrected Edward, realizing she misunderstood his tone. He gently added, "I mean, are you hungry, as in – would you like to eat?"

She cocked her head back in surprise. "Is this sarcasm that I'm not accustomed to or…?"

"No," reiterated Edward. "Really. Are you hungry?"

Bella frowned as she took in his sincerity. "What if I didn't get a good part? Don't you want to know before we go?"

Edward shrugged and repeated, "No."

She thought he did not care at all about her result, and hunched further; Bella immediately felt less happy about her fairly decent part in _The Nutcracker_. She felt stupid and irrational. But she forced a small smile.

"Is that why you're still in jeans?"

"Yes." Edward stood up and adjusted his black-framed glasses. By now, he was really getting annoyed at repeating the question. "So, are you hungry or not?"

"Um, sure," agreed Bella, still a little confused. Edward told her to change into her usual clothes and meet him at the hallway. He shove his stuff to his new sports bag before hovering in the corridor, swinging the keys of the front door as he waited for her. Edward's aversion of lingering and procrastination did not turn him into a patient man, and certainly contributed to his distaste for meditation. How could doing nothing be good for anyone? Life was too short for that.

The ridiculously short drive with the generic-looking Cadillac Catera ended in front of an Irish Pub by the name of The Lucky Leprechaun. Bella hopped out of the car before Edward could even consider opening the door for the girl, and they found seats in a corner in the wooden chairs and took their orders.

"I should've probably asked you where you wanted to go," admitted Edward quietly once the waitress had left. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, I —" Bella flushed, still surprised by how quickly her night had taken such an unpredictable direction. "I don't get out much. I would've probably suggested the closest Mac." She smiled. "Thank you."

"For what?"

Uncomfortable, Bella shrugged. "You know, for taking me here and being spontaneous, I guess. I'm not used to seeing this side of you."

"I actually owe you an apology." Edward rubbed his forehead as he locked eyes with her. "I should've asked for your opinion from the beginning. But I didn't, and I'm sorry for that."

"I appreciate that," reciprocated Bella. "You can be an asshole all around."

"But that's anatomically impossible."

Bella let out a laugh that earned her more attention than she would have liked, and hid her face behind her palms. For a reason Edward failed to comprehend, he suddenly wished he could put his hand against the warmth of her blush. The way it no longer bothered him confused Edward, and he clasped his one hand in the other.

Two foaming glasses were placed in front of them, and Bella simply stared as Edward took the first gulp.

"Umm, Edward?"

He licked his lips. "Yes?"

"Why'd you order me a beer?"

"Don't you like beer?"

"I do," assured Bella, smiling. "But not in public places, if you get what I mean."

He gaped, blank-eyed, before Edward's error dawned on him. "I completely forgot. What would you like? I'm sure we can change it."

"No, no." Bella slid the glass closer to her. "If you have no intention of telling on me, I'd say I have it. Can I?"

"Bella…"

She smiled, mirroring his dawdle. "Edward…"

"How old are you, anyway?" he asked, watching her glass. "Seventeen?"

"Eighteen."

"Almost nineteen?"

"No, just got eighteen."

"Did I miss a birthday?"

Bella shrugged. "Not really, it was the day of our first lesson. No big deal."

"Shit." Loosened by the liquid courage to his empty stomach (or the placebo effect for his body could not absorb alcohol that quickly), Edward groaned. "Please don't tell me you were late because of a birthday party."

"Okay," affirmed Bella. "I won't."

Edward muffled a moan. "If we didn't know I was an ass before, we do now. I should've asked you. I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

"Wow," chuckled Bella. "And I had no idea you could be so dramatic. It was just a surprise party my co-workers threw me. They didn't know I wanted to be home early. Don't worry about it."

"You _work_?"

"What is this, oral resume? I can assure you; this night will drag into several if you need to hear my life story."

Edward smiled. "I guess we'll just have to make this a tradition then."

Bella knew she should have suppressed the warm and fuzzy feeling in her stomach, but she couldn't. It simply felt too nice to see this gentler side of Edward, and even though she knew it would eventually end and he would return to his girlfriend, she enjoyed being here with Edward more than she let on.

"You don't care about my life," stated Bella, and the truth in her words cut through Edward's heart. "But I'm interested, how'd you end up with the keys to the fitness center?"

Still feeling the linger of how much he'd underestimated Bella, Edward replied, "My dad is a doctor, and his friend's friend's friend is a physician whose friend's friend's… something along those lines."

Bella was still pondering on whether or not to drink the alcohol when she slid her chair closer to Edward and stared at him. "Your father is a doctor?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I—I… Do you mind if I get a little personal?"

"Of course not," answered Edward, almost having finished his beer as he began to get worried. "Wait — you don't have a terminal illness or something? Shit. Please say no."

"No, no, don't worry," assured Bella. "But I'm worried about my mom, she has chest pains and she's been coughing a lot, and I tried to make an appointment for her, but I'm always put on hold. I just want to make sure she's alright."

Edward let out a sigh of relief. "Of course I'll help you. My father's an ophthalmologist, but he has connections."

"I wouldn't bother you with this, but I won't forgive myself if it's something serious and I couldn't even make an appointment…" Bella placed a hand on Edward's and looked him straight in the eye. "I can't begin to tell you how much I'd appreciate it."

Edward couldn't tear away his eyes before Bella did it herself, and he wanted to put her in his lap and comfort her. Instead, he pushed aside the unfamiliar feeling and ended his beer.

"So are you going to tell me which part you got or am I supposed to tickle it out of you?"

Bella's wary smile didn't quite light up her face. "You're not gonna like my answer."

"I don't mind."

Bella rested her elbows on the edge of the table, playing with her sleeve. "I'm Spanish Hot Chocolate."

Edward let a sincere smile stretch across his face. "That's great! Why do you look like you ate a sour grape?"

"It's just that…" Bella shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "I remember your words about the possibility of me being the best, and I kinda feel like I've let you down." She lowered her voice. "I'm really sorry about that. I'm happy about my part, more than happy, but I figured you'd feel like you've wasted your time with me. But I did do my best, I promise. I did. I practiced like crazy."

Bella slid her half-empty glass in front of Edward, and he gave her a nod, sipping from it. Their food arrived.

"I've really been an asshole," admitted Edward, apologetic. "Of course I care. And I think you have an awesome part. Who's your partner?"

"Ben Cheney. He's good, great even, but our dancing is kinda awkward. He's a little shorter, and graceful, but very submissive. I feel so bad when he feels bad about something utterly insignificant, and then we both feel bad and it ends up with a disaster."

"Maybe we'll let him join once or twice." Edward hummed. "And who's the Sugar Plum Fairy?"

Bella raised her eyebrows. "Do you really need me to spell it out for you?"

"Rosalie?"

"Why so surprised?" asked Bella, shying away from admitting that she had been chosen as a back-up plan. She, too, would start to practice for the main part, but for some reason, admitting that to Edward felt like she was comparing herself to Edward's perfect little sister, and Bella's best friend. She had no intention of doing so. It felt like betrayal. "She's been practically hired for the last seven years."

Edward hummed, offering her a smile. "So I guess that means we'll have to practice for that?"

"Yes," agreed Bella. "If you're up for it. You still haven't given me any hint as to how much you wanna be paid."

"I don't," replied Edward immediately. "Please don't. You're helping me, too, you know."

"Do what?" asked Bella, amused. "Learn how to give orders and be a jerk?"

"That, too." Edward shrugged, embarrassed. "But I'm actually testing out one of Emmett's theories."

"I'm your guinea pig?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I'm my own guinea pig." He sighed. "I've been for my whole life."

"Are you vague by accident or am I not intended to see nothing but a mystery in your cryptic words?"

Edward let out a laugh, chocking a little on the beer Bella had given him. "Sorry." He coughed, offering the end of it to Bella, who refused.

"I'm epileptic, as you might've noticed," started Edward, but paused, frowning. "Are you sure you wanna hear this? It gets pretty long."

"Of course, if you don't mind sharing," said Bella, smiling gently. "I've got two vacant classes tomorrow morning. I can sleep in."

"Alright," agreed Edward. "I can't tell you the beginning 'cause I can't remember the first time it happened. I do know it used to be different. Very different. My parents thought I had some sort of a syndrome because I could have moments when I sat for minutes and didn't respond to anything that was said or done or yelled at me. I guess I just didn't have the obvious physical aspect of it. They diagnosed me when I was about seven, and my parents were told by several doctors that it was likely my seizures would stop once I reached my teenage years. I hoped they would. I'd never gotten used to the way I could wake up anywhere without remembering where the hell I was. I've had so many concussions it's a surprise I don't have mental problems. But as you know, the seizures didn't stop. They just changed."

I do feel it coming sometimes. I feel tired and unfocused for several hours before the seizures come. Sometimes I'm wrong. But mostly, I can tell when they're on their way."

"What about the medicine?" asked Bella. "How does it work for you?"

"I'm sure you know it doesn't prevent all seizures. At first, I doubted it worked at all, so without the knowledge of my parents, I stopped taking it for two weeks when I was sixteen or so. The first few days I didn't have a single seizure, so I thought maybe the medicine encouraged my seizures instead of preventing them." Edward slid his fingers around the edge of the glass, averting his eyes. "I was so wrong. On the third day, I got a pretty average seizure. I started to get them in a few days' intervals, and on Friday when my two weeks was almost over, I collapsed in my school canteen and got seizures with the duration of tens of minutes so serious they called 911. I spent three days at the hospital." Edward sighed. "I never did tell my parents I should probably be held responsible, so they spent their time and money trying to figure out why I'd gotten so much worse.

But I've never skipped a single dose of medicine after that."

"Have you tried to notice what encourages your epilepsy?"

"All sorts of stuff," shrugged Edward. "There's quite a lot actually, but I can't just be locked up in my room for the rest of my life. Even when it's awkward going to a uni with epilepsy, all my teachers and other students already know about it, so I try to attend as many classes as I can."

"With Alice, I found I couldn't take her to the I-MAX movie theatre. They play with the lights, switching it on and off, and the next thing I know, she's having a seizure."

Edward nodded. "I don't generally do cinemas because of that. And tunnels. And I'd make a terrible celebrity. Rapidly flashing lights in the dark? A horrible idea."

"So what's Emmett's theory? Who is he, anyway?"

"Oh, sorry," apologized Edward. "He's a self-defense course instructor, and a childhood friend of mine. We grew up together in Ottawa before his mother and my mother had the craziest idea of moving to the States." He shrugged. "It didn't… it didn't exactly work out as they'd planned. My dad had no problems finding a job, but my mom — the one who proposed the idea of moving here in the first place — couldn't get used to the life over here. Or the climate. She wanted to go back after a year, my dad didn't, and long story short, they got separated and my mom moved back to Canada."

"I'm sorry," said Bella, wanting to comfort Edward.

"I'm not," answered Edward with a sad smile. "Separation meant that the fighting ended. We couldn't have been more relieved." After the tiniest pause, Edward reciprocated, "What about you? What's your story?"

"We'll never make it home if I start…" She smiled. "Besides, you didn't even mention Emmett's theory," reminded Bella.

"Ah, that," said Edward. "Basically, he thinks all problems start with not exercising enough."

Doubtful, Bella let her eyes linger on his defined biceps and the lean chest under his bottom-down. "And you are obviously the worst couch-potato known to mankind."

Edward cocked his head back and laughed. "Yeah, well, I used to be much smaller than I am now."

"Don't tell me you think you're _fat_. If you do, the rest of us should go and kill ourselves."

Amused, Edward shook his head. "You're the one to talk," he said. "But it's not that. I've just gained muscle. But there's a difference between exercising several hours every day and a few times a week."

"But does his theory work?"

"It's hard to tell." Edward sighed. "Sometimes it feels like it does, and sometimes it doesn't at all. Too much depends on my mood, where I've been, how regularly I've managed to take my medication… stuff like that."

"If you don't mind me asking…" started Bella, curious. "What does it feel like?"

"A seizure?"

"Yes."

"The first part… I guess it's different for everyone, but I feel like I'm being sucked into a hole. I might feel tingling, jittery movements I can't control, sweating, blurry vision or sudden overall darkness. If I have a serious one, I have a metallic taste in my mouth and the most depressing feeling one could imagine. It's so intense that by the time I fall I feel like I'm about to die.

"The next conscious moment is when I find myself lying down somewhere, in a hospital if I'm out of luck, or on the classroom floor with everyone staring down at me; or even in the streets. It's not very nice. And I know it's a lousy excuse for being moody, but sometimes it just… I might feel angry and irritated before a seizure strikes. And probably depressed afterwards, regardless of whether or not I find myself alone. You know who dementors are? That feeling as if all the joy has been sucked out of you? That's kinda it. I can be incredibly happy one point and then it's just sucked out of me. Lots of emotional highs and lows, basically."

His explanations made Bella understand his actions better, but she did not want to pity him, so she merely said, "I don't think I even know what you're studying."

Edward smiled. "Architecture in the UF. Gainesville, School of Architecture. I'm finishing my Master's next spring."

"Isn't that… why aren't you living in campus?"

"I don't really want to. Sure, it takes a few hours to get there and back, but I don't have lectures every day anymore."

"Awesome." Bella's lips broke into a grin. "I wish I could…" she stopped before she said too much, and she absent-mindedly observed the nightly crowd in the Irish pub. "Never mind. You're lucky. I'm sure it's amazing, the whole college experience and all."

Edward frowned at her vague, wishful happiness. "Why do you sound like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you won't get to experience it."

Bella shrugged, avoiding eye contact as she played with her half-empty plate and changed the subject. "Hey, is there a clock here somewhere? Do you know what — oh, God. It's one AM, Edward!" She rushed to get up. "I really have to go. I'm sorry."

"Okay," muttered Edward, sad but calm as he, too, stood up. He signaled the waitress to get the bill.

"Is it possible that you can give me a lift or should I call a cab?" asked Bella, anxious because of being so late.

"I'll give you a lift," replied Edward, almost offended by the suggestion of doing otherwise. He dismissed all Bella's attempts to pay and offered his jacket as they exited the pub. With a smile that made Edward's stomach flip, Bella accepted it.

"I really enjoyed tonight," said Bella as Edward pulled the car next to her apartment building. He turned off the engine, and Bella flushed a little as she continued, "Turns out you're not as pompous an asshole as you make it seem."

Edward chuckled.

"So I guess I'll see you next Monday?"

"Don't forget you owe me your story, so we'll have to reschedule another dinner-date."

Bella's heart sped up, and she struggled to keep composure as Edward eyed her with such earnest adoration she almost thought he was going to kiss her. But seconds passed, and the moment was broken when Edward tore away his eyes and restarted the engine. Bella got the message and managed a smile.

"Thanks for the jacket," said Bella, taking it off.

"Thanks for the company."

The silly grin on Bella's face was enough to make Edward chuckle. "Now go. I can't pull away before you're in the building."

"Turns out you're a closet gentleman, huh?"

Edward smiled, lifting a shoulder. "I have my moments." He waited until she got into the building before he pulled away and felt his lips stretch into a grin.


	3. III

**Freedom in a Syringe**  
>by Anton M.<p>

**III**

"Higher, higher… there! Gracefully, slowly, now twirl… put your foot down firmly. Very good."

"Really?"

"Don't look so pleased, you've got a lot to do before resting on the golden pillows."

"Sush, Edward," silenced Bella as she stopped and locked eyes with him. _Chocolate_ continued. "Give me my two seconds of satisfaction before stomping me to mud."

Edward feigned offence. "I wasn't about to stomp you to mud."

"Oh, really?" asked Bella, amused. "Tell me what you think of my _port de bras__."_

Edward stepped closer. "Your shoulders are still a little tense. Your hands, although you've improved, are still not seamless enough from the_ fifth en bas_ to the first arm position, and you shouldn't —" He suddenly halted to a stop. "You tricked me!"

"I told you," said Bella, sitting down in the middle of the room and taking time to hyperventilate. Today, she had a particular glint in her eye that Edward admired from across the room. "You cannot wait to start criticizing me."

"That is not true," claimed Edward earnestly, this time sincerely offended that Bella would think that. "And if you cannot accept a little criticism, you'll find that you'll collapse under the burden of truth."

Both the hour and the minute hand pointed at XII; it had gone dark outside long ago, but neither seemed to care. Ever since the evening Edward brought Bella to The Lucky Leprechaun, they got along incredibly well. Bella knew not to sting him if he was in a lousy mood and Edward understood her life wasn't all rainbows and sunshine, so he tried not to live himself out on her.

"The _burden_?" repeated Bella. "The _burden_ of truth?"

"Yes," agreed Edward without hesitation as he sat cross-legged in front of Bella. The practice was nearly over and he felt quite content with Bella's progress.

"You don't make any sense," said Bella, eager to understand. "There's no burden in truth."

"Isn't there?" asked Edward, locking eyes with her and leaving the question out in the open.

"Well, of course not," argued Bella. "Isn't telling the truth what people claim to be the most liberating thing of all?"

"Claim," emphasized Edward. "_Claim_. But they only want to hear it if it suits their opinion of their selves. Haven't you lived on Earth, Bella? It's considered rude to tell the truth. That's why people don't like me very much. It's uncomfortable for people to hear about their flaws, they'd rather overlook them than bother to change themselves."

"But if I told you one of your flaws is that you are too blunt, would you attempt to change yourself?"

"No," said Edward with a surprisingly gentle smile. "No, because I don't prefer being polite to being straight-forward."

"If so, isn't your unwillingness to change yourself a flaw as well?" asked Bella.

Edward cocked back his head and laughed whole-heartedly. "Touché."

Bella boldly fist-bumped the air, a movement so uncharacteristic of her shy self that Edward stared at her longer than he felt he should've. Bella chuckled before she grew more serious. "If you think you're such an honesty-guru, would you mind telling me your honest opinion of me?" asked Bella. "I promise not to take offence in anything you say."

Edward hesitated, and not because his opinion of Bella had been that bad, but because of the opposite. It had changed. He couldn't know how she would react to his opinion.

"Well?" asked Bella with a hint of amusement. "I'm serious, what does the brilliant dancer Edward think of me? I'm not going to cry if you think I'm ugly and talentless." She let out a laugh. "So go ahead."

Edward averted his eyes. "I'm not sure how you'll react."

"See? You just said the sole reason why people embellish their words. They're afraid of the reaction. Or consequences."

Edward stood, straightened his back and shut off the music. Amused, Bella leaned her head against her knees to stretch. "What — you're so repulsed by my horrific dancing skills that you cannot even tell me so?"

"Yes," said Edward in mock-seriousness, sat down next to his bag and took out his water bottle. "Bella, you don't care about my opinion. Really, you don't."

"If I didn't, I wouldn't have asked," said Bella. "Besides, how many friends would be bold enough to tell me of my flaws into my face? I can even start if you wanna know my honest opinion of you."

Edward turned his head so abruptly he had a crank in his neck. Swaying his head and rubbing the back of his neck, he asked, "And what would that be?"

Bella smiled. "No hard feelings?"

"Of course not."

"In that case." Bella bent his knee on the floor and leaned on the left, feeling the familiar burn in his muscles. Calmly, she started, "You're straight-forward, obviously. You seem a little lonely, I don't know why — maybe you're afraid of letting people in. Maybe it's because you're embarrassed of anyone seeing you have a seizure or some other reason I can't think of. I know for a fact most girls in ballet school used to be in love with you, although I'm not sure if you were aware. You don't speak much about your girlfriend, either because you cherish your relationship so much or you're too uncertain about the direction you're going." Bella paused, and after a few seconds, decided to add, "If I had to choose three words to describe you, I'd say intimidating, hard-working and, er… handsome." She flushed furiously, bent her other knee to lean on the right, and was grateful to be facing the floor. _And I get the butterfly feeling in my stomach when I'm close to you. _But she decided to lighten the mood by saying, "You don't like me very much." She offered him her pursed-lips smile, but shrugged.

Bella's description, or perception, or whatever, was spot on — except for one thing. "Why, why would you think that?" stuttered Edward, at a loss for words. _Bella thought he looked handsome._ His heart seemed to expand in his chest.

But why did he care? And why was he stammering like a five-year old? He never stuttered.

Bella chuckled. "You don't feign liking someone very well, Edward. But it's okay, really. I'm not mad or anything."

With an inscrutable expression, Edward emphasized, "I don't hate you, Bella."

"But you don't seem to like me much, either," replied Bella. She continued to smile. "So, now it's your turn — though, be gentle, my shell isn't as hard as yours."

"My turn?" repeated Edward, completely oblivious.

"Yeah, you know, I say what I think of you, you insult me — like we agreed. We're friends, right?" Bella scrunched up her still blushing face and locked eyes with Edward for a brief second. "Well, sorry, I'm not sure if you can be friends with a person you don't really like. Sorry."

"Of course we're friends," said Edward. "And how come you're so happy today?"

"I've got a date." She smiled while Edward's stomach lurched and settled somewhere under his knees. He felt nauseated.

"Anyone I know?"

"I'm not sure. It's one of Rosalie's old friends, Mike."

"Newton." Edward heard the words come out of his mouth before he could help himself, "Do you like him?"

"He's pretty cool."

"But do you like him?"

She offered him a somewhat sad smile. "He's alright. Very eager."

Edward cracked his knuckles and Bella gave him a curious glance before she continued, "And since you expect complete honesty, I can tell you I've had the stupidest crush on an older guy for more than a year." Bella rolled her eyes, sighing as she stood up and stretched. "So it'll do me some good to get over it and go out with someone else. I think that's the sole reason I agreed to go out with him."

Edward felt one imaginary stab after the other and could not comprehend why he was feeling worse by the second. "Anyone I know?"

"Why?" asked Bella, suddenly apprehensive of the information she'd shared. She hadn't intended to tell him, not like this, not now, not ever. It was bad enough she hadn't gotten over him for so long, and now that Bella knew he could not like her like she wanted him to, no way in hell was she going to admit it was him. "Maybe."

Edward paled, horror stricken in his face. "Please tell me it's not James. I'll kill that bastard."

Clutching onto her stomach, Bella laughed heartily until tears streaked her cheeks.

"What?"

"You're awfully protective for a friend who doesn't even like me."

"That wasn't denial," pointed out Edward, alarmed.

"Edward." Bella sighed, rolling her eyes with a grin still in place. "Do you really think I'm stupid enough to get involved with a teacher? I'm flattered you think so highly of me."

"I didn't…"

"A teacher with a past of — er, how should we phrase that? Having an eye for female students?"

Edward felt embarrassed to have suggested it, but couldn't help but be relieved by her denial. And yet, the nameless emotion squeezing his heart made him no happier.

"Edward?" asked Bella, suddenly anxious. "Oh my God, you're pale. Are you gonna have a seizure?" She stepped right next to him, and before Edward could argue, she wrapped her arm around his waist and made him sit down. Not on a chair, but on the floor.

Distracted by her scent and warmth, Edward shook his head. "No, I'm fine, sorry."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," affirmed Edward, stretching a weak smile. "Just tired, probably."

"Okay," said Bella, not at all convinced.

"And Bella," continued Edward, squeezing her hand and finding her eyes. "If Mike or that guy who's too blind to see what's right in front of him hurts you, just tell me, okay? I'll beat them into pieces so tiny you'll have to send them to their family in a matchbox."

Once again, Bella broke into chuckles. How would she tell him that he'd have to commit suicide for that?

"That's sweet of you, but once again, your claim is awfully peculiar for a guy who doesn't even like my character."

Edward had no answer.

Despite having just worked out with Bella for two hours, Edward went for a jog to clear his head just after he got home. It didn't matter it was almost one AM; with Edward's current frustration he would've welcomed a brief encounter with a possible thug. He knew he could defend himself, and didn't have any money with him. Just an MP-3 player.

Why did Bella's date annoy him? As Bella herself repeatedly reminded him, Edward didn't even like her. He remembered how annoyed he was by Bella's tardiness the first time they met, and he hadn't even remembered her name. But now… the truth was, Bella had started to grow on him. More so than he cared to admit, and with consistence he hadn't experienced before. He had to continuously remind himself of the fact that he did, in fact, have a girlfriend despite the said girlfriend not having contacted him for nearly two months. Edward had made a pact with himself to break up with her the moment their two months without contact was over.

Edward hadn't even gone a block when he halted to a stop and pinpointed the emotion in him at the thought of Bella's date.

He was jealous.

Edward was startled to realize he wanted to be the guy Bella went out with. He wanted to be the one to make her laugh. He actually liked her, with her ungraceful arms and blushing face and pursed-lips smile. Edward felt bad for feeling jealous; after all, he had a girlfriend, and he'd always — even in his mind — been faithful to the girl he was going out with. Even if said girlfriend didn't seem to care about his existence.

_To hell with stubbornness_, thought Edward. _I'll text her tomorrow. Lauren and I need to have a talk._

: :

Drizzle hazed the open windows of the room Bella shared with her sister and streetlights illuminated the floor. A lonely candle flickered in the wind. The sisters were facing each other, Alice's fragile hand encased in Bella's and neither of them asleep. Trying to be a good role model, Bella shut her eyes and pretended to sleep for a few minutes, but when she opened an eye to see if Alice had followed her actions, her sister was grinning with an open mouth. After repeating her futile attempt thrice, Bella gave up, clicked on the bedside lamp and discovered it was nearly two AM. Eager to use the chance of not holding hands with her sister, Alice brought her index finger up to her mouth, peeking down at Bella through her eyelashes. She had to make sure Bella was paying attention, and when she registered that she was not, Alice let out a whiny hum, closing her mouth around her finger.

Bella, seeing that the wind had blown several of her documents onto the floor, closed the windows, picked up her papers and only then noticed Alice's mute request. She shook her head and crouched next to Alice, grinning wickedly. She, too, wrapped her lips around her index finger.

"Dri-ink?" dawdled Bella with a finger in her mouth. A glint immediately appeared in Alice's eyes, she let go of her finger and cocked back her head, laughing quietly. Bella kissed her forehead, straddled her body without laying an inch of her weight on Alice and lifted her to sit and lean on the pillows in front of the bedframe. The younger sister went to the kitchen, filled a glass with lukewarm water and placed it on their bedside table while kneeling next to Alice. She pulled Alice's hair into a messy bun and reached out to grip the glass.

But before she could, she heard a muted cry that was followed by a thump and the sound of glass shattering on the floor. Bella leaped off the bed, disappeared from the room and left Alice staring at the glass of water with longing in her eyes.

Bella heard her own heart beat as she ran to the other side of the corridor and threw open the door. In the relative darkness of the bedroom stood her mother, panting and hands akimbo, over a broken alarm clock with a wild glint in her eye. She raised her eyes and they locked with Bella's. Her breath caught.

"What?" Bella's mother yelled and crouched in front of the bed, frantically looking for something. "We must go, we can make it if we hurry!"

"Mom," said Bella, frightened but determined not to let it show. She took a giant step towards the bed and over the shattered glass. "Please sit down, you'll hurt yourself."

"Why are you calling me that?" Her mother stumbled backwards over the sharp glass, tearing at her hair and averting her eyes. She had entered a bubble of her own that excluded all limits of time and space and a world where past stayed in the past; while Bella had seen it before, she knew better than to argue or get herself worked up over this. Her mother continued, "I must go, I have the same blood type. I can save him. I must go!"

"Mom," continued Bella quietly. "It's alright. You're with me. Please step away from the glass."

"You!" she seethed as Bella shut her eyes and took a deep, ragged breath. "You're with them, aren't you? I knew you weren't any good, you didn't even care about Alice! Leaving her alone in a bus, what were you thinking? And then you go and get yourself legs that aren't even good for dancing. Then you kick my poor daughter until she bleeds! She did nothing to you! And then you off your own father, how could you?" She seethed. "I hate you!"

Of course Bella knew her mother wasn't herself anymore. Of course she did. But that didn't make her words hurt any less. But at a point where her mother started accusing Bella of things that had been done _to_ her, not _by_ her, the younger daughter knew Renee was starting to completely lose it.

"Mom," repeated Bella, fighting with tears. "Heart attacks happen. They're no-one's fault."

"Stop calling me that!" screamed Renee, wild and frantic and in a desperate chain to unroll her angst. "You'd think I'd know if I had a daughter!"

Bella took a step closer. "Renee," she said. "It's only me, Bella. Please come back to me, to Alice. We love you."

Her mother flew to her side, brushing past the bedframe in an urge to clutch Bella's shoulders and shake the politeness out of her. The daughter flinched and crouched as Renee pounded against her bare shoulder. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What are you doing in my house?"

With a sort of sick numb fascination, Bella didn't move, nor did she stop as her shoulder reddened and bruised from the hits from a woman who would have ten years ago rather died than known what the future had in store for her. This wasn't the gentle person Bella proudly called her mother. This wasn't her. She would have never, ever hit her own daughter.

"You bitch!" raged Renee, stepping on glass, fisting a hand and giving Bella the hardest blow yet; the daughter shut her eyes and flinched. "You useless bitch! I couldn't work for ten years because of you! Why couldn't you have been a little more responsible?" Renee inhaled before screaming, "You fucking bitch!"

Bella retreated, carefully avoiding the shattered glass, and inhaled a shaky breath. She didn't cry as she wrapped her arms around her stomach to soothe her nausea and settled for a blatant but necessary lie. She didn't want to end up in a hospital because her mother had problems remembering who she was.

"Don't you want to get ready before Charlie arrives home?"

The effect was immediate. Renee took a breath, locked eyes with a scared-looking Bella, stepped away from mess on the floor and smiled.

"He's coming home?" Her innocent doe eyes shone in elation.

Bella swallowed down the sudden urge to cry. "Yes," she muttered hoarsely. "But we need to clean you up first."

Like a frightened child, Renee's eyes widened. "You don't mean… I mean… Not shower." Bella's mother gulped audibly. "Please not shower. I'll do anything."

"Could you sit down on the other side of the bed?" Bella already helped her as she held her gaze. "Relax, I'm not going to force you to shower."

Renee's shoulders slumped as she sighed. Her expression relaxed. Bella gathered the remaining pieces of the old alarm clock and watched as Renee's breathing gradually evened out. The daughter brought cotton, hydrogen peroxide, tweezers, a band aid and a bit water as she leaned closer to her mother's legs and carefully cleaned her feet. Then she wrapped her mother in a blanket, kissed her forehead, left the room without closing the door and gave Alice a drink. She spooned her afterwards, biting her lower lip, and hummed Alice to sleep. She knew perfectly well why this particular night and that particular time bothered her mother enough to shatter a harmless alarm clock.

After having made sure Alice had fallen asleep, Bella rose to blow out the white candle.

: :

With Tuesday's busyness and unexpected assignments on Wednesday, the thought of contacting Lauren didn't even cross Edward's mind. That's why, when Edward stepped out of the building in Commerce Park Drive at half to ten on Thursday, he didn't immediately recognize the blonde long-legged girl in front of him who was enthusiastically calling out his name. Further inspection convinced him what the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach already knew. Leaning against her mother's black Jeep, there stood Lauren. Her hair was shorter, more elegant, and she seemed to have gotten herself world's longest red fingernails, but the smile stretching across her face seemed to be genuine.

"Hi," greeted Edward modestly, offering Lauren a faint smile. "How'd you find me?"

"Emmett told me where you'd be. Come on, hop in."

"Actually, I have plans," said Edward. "But we need to have a talk."

"I know! Emmett told me. I'll take you to Vineland Road." The second sentence was completely lost on Lauren, and Edward sighed as he got into the car. It felt surreal to have Lauren here, acting as if no time had passed.

"So how are you?" started Lauren, observing his profile as soon as she stopped in front of a stop light.

"Surprised," answered Edward, turning to Lauren. "What are you doing here?"

"Spending time with my boyfriend, is that illegal now?"

"Why now?"

"Why not?"

"Maybe because we haven't spoken to each other for two whole months."

"Ah, don't worry about that." Lauren dismissed the subject before Edward could even address it. "I forgive you."

"For what?"

"That little break we had," said Lauren simply. "Now, I wanna see you teach her. I'm sure you're a marvelous teacher. You're always good at everything you set your mind to."

Edward shrunk under her gaze and said nothing. After their two month break it hadn't even crossed his mind that Lauren could prefer acting normal instead of expressing her common puffed exaggerations. He'd expected to be faced with yelling, cursing, name-calling, screaming and crying and sobbing.

Why did Lauren not address the fact that he hadn't been around for two months, or the fact that she hadn't cared enough to contact him, in any way? Didn't she find it peculiar that he always had to be – was assumed to be – the one to contact her? Not the other way around? Never the other way around.

"What're you thinking about?"

Edward turned his gaze from the city lights to the girl next to him. "Life."

"Are you worried I'm mad at you for the break we had? I already told you, don't worry. I perfectly understand."

Edward would've preferred if Lauren _had_ screamed at him, so he could feel less puzzled about the fact that Lauren thought the mistake belonged to him. It did, kind of, but Lauren's tendency to assume that whichever issues they had derived from him and not her, spoke volumes. Maybe pretending that they weren't just another couple who had problems was easier for her, maybe this was her escape-route. Covering her face with a smile in a bad situation she refused to acknowledge had often been her style. Denial; pure, unacknowledged denial.

"So how've you been?" inquired Edward and slumped further in his seat as he listened to Lauren's way of coping with their broken relationship. She pretended the problem didn't exist.

: :

Bella woke up feeling like her heart had decided it had had enough of beating in her chest, changed location, and was now blissfully pulsing away just below her shoulder. An ache akin to a hot, large iron spread from the front of her shoulder to the top of it. As Bella sat up, she tore off her blanket and let out a gasp-like groan. Falling asleep, she'd been so busy reminiscing in the memories of her father that she had completely forgotten the arriving morning brought a Thursday; a day for school. She'd neglected to find ice.

Bella ate her breakfast balancing a pack of frozen peas on her shoulder, warmed up porridge for Alice and in a hurry to get to school nearly forgot to help her mother get dressed. Through the entire day, she happily (or so it would seem) convinced all her peers that no, she was not suffering under abuse, and no, no-one had mugged her. She'd simply tried out a self-defense course that clearly didn't suit for her, laughed while saying it, and pretended to not notice the concerned scowls from both the teachers and the students. Bella didn't try to conceal it for that would have made people more suspicious. It wasn't forbidden to wear a T-shirt, but she had yet to see anyone do so. It would've immediately drawn attention to her.

Rosalie hadn't said a single word. The fact both frightened and relieved Bella. Her beautiful friend had met Bella's mother a few times, but Bella hadn't said a single word about her mother's obvious condition, and Rosalie was too good a friend to mention a subject Bella clearly chose to deny or ignore.

Rosalie silently offered her a water bottle after a lift that made Bella cringe. Bella accepted it with an appreciative smile and a nod and put it on her shoulder. She said nothing.

: :

"Edward, I really need to learn _pas de chat_ today because —" Bella stepped into the gym and halted to a stop. The lights were on. So far, she hadn't walked into the room with its lights turned on, so she immediately realized something must've been different. That 'something different' gave her a modest wave, rested one long lean tanned — take a pick — leg on the other and grinned at Bella. Edward lowered his head in embarrassment.

"You must be Bella — Edward's told me so much about you!"

A frown, barely-there, showed up on Bella's face. She didn't notice that she wasn't the only one gaping at the girl. Taking a subtle yet deep breath, Bella willed her hurt to drown in the ridiculous piece of her heart that still believed Edward might one day come around. She stepped closer to the girl.

"I wish I could say the same — Edward must be very possessive of you, I don't even know your name," said Bella. "Nice to meet you…"

"Lauren."

"Ah, Lauren. Will you be watching us tonight? Edward's a brilliant dancer, but I must warn you, I am not a sight to see." Bella chuckled. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

The pain in Bella's expression was so quick and feeble that Edward was sure he imagined it. What he did not imagine, however, was a vast, almost hand-sized dark bruise on Bella's left shoulder. The moment his eyes locked on hers, she paled and cursed under her breath. She'd completely forgotten to put on a T-shirt, not a top like she did at school. But it was too late. The damage was done.

"Bella?" asked Edward in a whisper so low only Bella could hear it. "Who did this to you?"

"S'nothing." Bella shrugged, averting her eyes. "You know how it is with dancing."

"Bella," warned Edward, stepping closer to her and lowering his voice. "For two months, we've practiced together, and as far as I've seen, you haven't had a single serious injury. Ungraceful movements? Yes. Bad fallings? Not once.

"So don't you dare underestimate my intelligence." He nearly seethed, and Bella winced as she witnessed anger unlike she'd seen before. "What the hell happened?"

She could feel his warm breath fanning across her forehead.

Lauren, no doubt under the false impression that the silent argument centered around her presence, chose that moment to clear her throat.

"Is there anything wrong?"

"Nope, nothing." Bella took a step away from Edward, forcing a smile. "Could you please put on Edward's second CD, last song? It's really good for warm-up."

Edward scowled at Bella's behavior as Marc Cohn's _Ghost Train_ wrapped the room around its calm rhythm. No words were spoken until they ended the warm-up, and even then, Bella always made sure they'd be close to Lauren to avoid a quiet (yet insistent for this was Edward) confrontation. By the time Edward had started explaining how to correctly (and gracefully) leap off her front leg while in a _plié_ and lift her back leg into _retiré_, Lauren was bored out of her mind. Their closeness bothered her a great deal, yes, but she didn't want to be seem bitchy, over-jealous girlfriend, so she simply got up from the low bench and jogged over to Edward. She would make it perfectly clear to whom Edward belonged without having to say anything.

Edward hadn't even registered her change of location before he was forced into an explicit, full-moaning French kiss.

Bella felt like a giant fist pounded into her stomach, fierce and without mercy. She bit her tongue, closing her eyes but not escaping Lauren's exaggerated groans.

Not finding another way out of her grip (her hands had already found its way into his messy hair), Edward took a step back. His eyes snapped to Bella, who had taken a step away from them and was now avoiding their eyes and hunching next to the window. He grimaced as he tore his eyes away from Bella and locked them with Lauren.

"What are you —"

Lauren smiled. "I just remember I had some errands to run, so I'll see you soon, okay? Call me."

"You can't just…" Edward ran a hand through his hair, frustrated by the purposeful false impression Lauren was counting on. He sighed, wiping his lips to erase traces of her tongue. "We need to talk, okay?"

Oblivious to his earnest expression, Lauren shrugged. "Whatever you wish." She pecked him on the lips (to which Edward cringed) before waving at Bella. "Nice meeting you!"

Bella gave Lauren her signature pursed-lips smile. "Likewise."

The moment the doors shut behind her, a silence so intense covered them that one could easily hear a pin drop (or the sound of Bella's heart breaking); the clock that had never seemed to fit in in this room ticked with abandon. Bella, fully admitting to herself that she had no right to feel jealous, finally straightened, and took a hesitant step closer to Edward. His lips were still red from the kiss, his breathing a little labored and hair messier than before. Bella forced down the feel of her throat tightening — what was she thinking, having a crush on a guy who had a girlfriend and could never reciprocate her feelings? — and with forced lack of emotion, asked, "Could you show me how you raise your left leg into _retir__é_ when you're already in the air?"

Edward silently took a step so close to Bella that she had to shiver, gently caressed her injured shoulder and felt goose-bumps on it. His voice was hoarse, but more than a little demanding.

"Are you going to tell me now what happened to your shoulder?"

"That's not why we're here, Edward," replied Bella, slightly on the edge from the way Edward couldn't have been bothered to inform her before bringing his girlfriend. "Forgive my straight-forwardness, but it's none of your damn business."

"But it is," scolded Edward, feeling his anger rise. "It is! We practice two times a week, and you being injured is an issue whether you like it or not. And if you continue telling me it's from dancing… fuck, Bella, you should know better than that. Was it Mike? I'll kill that bastard."

Bella's eyes went so wide she didn't even have to answer the question.

"Then who?"

"It's nothing, Edward, okay? This is not some novel I star in, trying to hide my scars while being abused by some prick and defending him. I have never been abused, okay?" She realized she was panting, and took a breath. "Can we leave it at that?"

"If you've never been abused, why are you getting so worked up over this?" asked Edward, towering over Bella. "Your reaction, Bella! You should've seen yourself when you realized I noticed your bruise. No-one, I repeat, _no_-_one_ who's not scared of other people seeing her body, reacts the way you did! Why are you so afraid of telling me?"

"I don't owe you an explanation! Why do you even care? It's not like you hold back your rudeness in my presence!"

He opened his mouth, but only gaped like a goldfish as he felt as if all air was gushed out of him. He could swear the rush of blood made a noise as it ran from the tips of his limbs to his head.

"I'm —"

He collapsed.

Bella immediately held out her hands to let him fall on her. She was so focused on not letting Edward's head hit the floor that she bruised her knees. His body jerked and twitched violently as Bella sat down and ran her fingers through his silky hair. She could smell his cologne and wondered why he'd wear it in a practice. Bella let her own breathing calm as she held his head slightly tilted in her lap. She didn't want him choking on his own saliva. His hand poked her, but did no harm, and either way, Bella was too busy counting seconds to feel the occasional fingernails on her thigh.

Kneeling in the middle of the empty room, Bella wondered why seeing a seizure never quite got better. In some ways, it did. She didn't freak out; she knew what to do and what not to do (and putting something in the mouth of a person having a seizure definitely fell into the latter). But seeing a person so helpless, so unaware of his surroundings and so vulnerable to harm, either unintentionally self-inflicted or caused by other people's ignorance or menace, it did things to Bella. So it wasn't easier, per se, to observe and watch a seizure happen.

She wondered if Edward had a seizure the day he first taught her, because so far, he had only lost his temper before an oncoming seizure. It was no excuse, she knew, but it explained a lot. He wasn't quite himself before a seizure, he'd even told her himself.

And, it occurred to Bella, it was likely that he hadn't had the chance to take his medicine because of Lauren's appearance.

When Edward came to, Bella had already brought his jacket from the bench to offer him warmth. Edward glanced at the way Bella hunched next to him, one leg bended from the knee and the other one straight to hold Edward's head in place. Her eyes were unfocused and she was absentmindedly running her fingers through his hair. Edward relished the moment and shut his eyes again.

"I love that."

Bella jerked from the surprise of his voice, though not enough to cause Edward's head to fall from her lap, and frowned. "You love collapsing in the middle of a sentence?"

"No," corrected Edward. "I love the way you know how to take care of me when I—I'm… indisposed."

"Indisposed?" Bella chuckled. "Who're you and what've you done to my Edward?"

She didn't mean to say it like that. It just burst out without a second thought, and she placed a hand on her face in a futile attempt to hide her flush from Edward; she knew her blush never failed to bother him.

Edward's eyes had snapped open at Bella's words, but his lips stretched into a lazy smile. "Possessive, are we?"

Bella was sure that if she continued flushing to this degree (and not figuratively), she'd surely set the room on fire. She decided to go for a friendly banter. "Not so smug, Cullen. I was just referring to the fact that you forgot to be a jerk to me. That must be a first."

"Hey," defended Edward, mock-hurt. "I'm always nice to you."

"Except when you aren't."

"Except when I have a_ seizure _coming," corrected Edward apologetically. "I didn't mean to get so worked up… earlier." He wet his lips, frowning up at her. "I was just worried about you."

"Did you feel it coming today?" asked Bella, changing the subject.

"I—I might've had a hunch."

"You _might've had a hunch_? What the —" Bella stopped. "You felt it coming and you didn't think of mentioning it to me?"

"And how would that have looked like?" asked Edward, shaking his head, and made a very bad Eddie Murphy impersonation. "'Hi, Bella, here's my girlfriend I haven't heard from for two months, oh, and by the way, I might be having a seizure later on.' Like that?"

"Yes!" She took a breath and averted her eyes. "I don't care to pry about your personal life, but you ought to warn me about a seizure if you think it might be coming. It's much easier for me to help you if I know beforehand."

Edward searched her face and realized she was being serious. "Alright. Next time, I'll tell you."

"Thank you." Bella smiled, and in spite of her better judgment, asked, "Did you forget to take your medicine tonight?" She grimaced in the memory of that particular inquiry.

As did Edward.

"You have no idea how much I hate that question," he told her.

"If you've repeatedly had an urge to strangle the one asking, yes, I think I might have an inkling."

Edward smiled even though he struggled to sit up, shrugged off Bella's concern and, with Bella's help, stood up, walked to the wall and sat, leaning on it. Bella came and sat cross-legged in front of him and started to stretch her arms. Their eyes locked.

"I swear, one day, I will," continued Edward as if no time had passed. "It's like they're… they…"

"…have no idea how little it sometimes affects the seizures?"

"I wanted to say that they're complete idiots, but I guess your phrasing is… slightly more diplomatic."

Both chuckled, and an understanding of sorts seemed to surge between them. Weren't they going through the same day-to-day troubles, only in different ways? Edward had seizures, Bella had been used to watching them since she was seven; both were used to controlling the intake, both knew that, occasionally, you could do everything according to the book and still not avoid seizures. Sometimes, nothing at all could trigger them. Bella had always ensured that Alice's intake didn't suffer under quantity nor regularity problems, but still, she could wake up at the feel or noise of Alice's convulsions. She could follow every guideline to the point of ridiculous meticulousness, but seizures still came. It just happened.

Edward leaned his head against the wall and observed Bella as she stretched her limbs. Her dark eyelashes fanned across her high cheekbones, he could still trace the slightest flush in her cheeks and a few strands of chocolate brown hair had escaped from her bun. Her legs were slim and toned, she had an appealing waist to hip ratio; so much so, in fact, that he found he couldn't take his eyes off her. She seemed so fragile yet so strong, and Edward didn't even realize his hand was moving until he had reached out and tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ear. But when he did register his actions, he immediately withdrew and avoided her searching gaze. Edward mumbled an embarrassed apology before he quickly brought up a subject he'd neglected earlier.

"So how was your date with Newton?"

Bella blinked as if in slow motion before she fully registered his question. Edward wanted to talk about her date? Why? "It was… good, I guess."

"Are you seeing him again?" Edward tried to be casually dismissive.

"Maybe."

He huffed out a breath.

"Why?" Bella frowned.

"No reason," answered Edward, shrugging and attempting not to feel a surge of jealousy. He failed. "Hey, remember the time you told me about your mother? About her coughing?"

"Yeah. I remember. She hasn't coughed for weeks, but just in case, I've already got her an appointment. It's on Saturday afternoon, if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh. That's great. I guess you won't be needing my help then."

Bella nodded and smiled a little shyly. "But thanks anyway."

After the tiniest pause, Edward said, "Listen, I'm really sorry about my girl— …um, Lauren. I had no idea she'd be coming. In fact, I didn't even know if she'd ever…"

Bella pursed her lips and smiled. "No big deal. We never really agreed that we couldn't bring other people, so it's not like you broke any rules or anything."

"Yes, but… I — I guess this… it feels like time for just the two of us, you know?" He didn't want to be too overwhelming too soon, so he hesitated. "I mean… it's kind of my time away from all the craziness of life."

Bella blinked slowly, but a hint of a smile played on her lips. "Are you sure you're the same Edward I met in September?"

"Why?"

"If first impressions are anything to go by, you've gone through several character implants."

"Are you saying your first impression of me wasn't a positive one?" asked Edward, amused by Bella's comment. But of course, Edward knew what she meant — his rudeness aside, he wasn't usually as hesitant or self-conscious as he was being at this moment. He commonly spoke concretely and with determination, and did not falter, neither with words nor actions. But after realizing he wanted Bella to perceive him differently, it somehow affected his behavior. He didn't want it to, but it did.

Towards a blundering idiot, apparently.

"No, I mean I… I guess I can't really say that. We'd met before my first practice, after all." Bella smiled. "But the second first impression, definitely. I almost died when you noticed the message on my T-shirt."

Edward quoted, "'Punctuality is the virtue of the bored.' Do you really think that?"

"I don't."

"Good," said Edward. "I would've had to kill you if you did."

Bella laughed. "I was out of clean shirts that day." She stood up, raising her arms over her head, tiptoed for a brief moment, and flushed when she noticed Edward's eyes fall on her exposed stomach.

"I guess we should wrap it up for tonight?" asked Bella, smoothing over her T-shirt.

"Not unless you want to sleep here."

"Tempting. But no."

Edward walked over to the CD Player, turned off the quiet music and hesitated. "You do know you can trust me, right?"

Taken aback, Bella stopped zipping up her bag and frowned. She looked up. "Of course."

"Good. So, if you ever need to, you know… talk, or if you need anything, I'm not going anywhere, okay? Even if it's four AM and you need to find a place to buy yellow thumbtacks."

Involuntary laughter escaped from her mouth before Bella could stop herself. "Yellow thumbtacks?"

She had never heard anyone who so barely knew her (or anyone at all, for that matter) offer something so basic yet kind, at least not in real life. It seemed like a moment that required soundtrack music and a meaningful locking of the eyes and a tentative smile from the both of them. That's why Bella flushed and apologized for her reaction. Edward simply shrugged.

After Edward had put away his extension cord, he walked over to where Bella was sitting and sat next to her. Quietly, he asked, "Do you still refuse to tell me what happened to your shoulder?"

"It's not a big deal," said Bella and offered him a pursed-lips smile. "I'm serious. Don't worry about me."

"But you admit it's not from dancing."

Bella wrung her arms together, twisting them, and found it a good enough reason not to look Edward in the eye. "It's not."

"But Bella," reasoned Edward, resting his elbows on his knees and trying to make her look at him. "If someone is hurting you and you're fine with it, it's a problem. Please let me help you."

Bella shook her head. "It's not like that."

"What's it like, then? Enlighten me, because I sure as hell cannot think of a situation where it's okay to hit a girl. Did anyone use physical violence on you? Was it a onetime occurrence? Has it happened before? Is it anyone from your family? You can tell me." Edward gulped, his voice lowering. "Please, Bella."

"It's not like that," repeated Bella, resting her head in her hands. "It's not like that."

"Do you think I'll do something that would threaten your situation even more? I would never do that. Do you need a place to stay? I'm sure I can arrange something. You always have a choice, Bella, even if you don't think you do. You must know that."

Bella finally turned her head and as she sighed, Edward noticed how utterly exhausted she looked.

"It's not like that, Edward," reiterated Bella. "And sometimes, choices mean nothing. Life's just thrown at you and you have no say in the shit that happens."

It was the first time Edward had ever heard Bella cuss and it alarmed him more than he let on. "I might agree if you were a little more specific."

"Whether or not you agree makes no difference, Edward." Her voice wavered and she realized her throat felt uncomfortable. She offered him a sad smile, but didn't elaborate. Edward watched as her lower lip wavered and eyes glazed over before she averted her eyes and blinked rapidly. After a brief inner monologue, Edward scooted over and wrapped his arms around her. With lowered eyes, Bella turned toward him and rested her head on his shoulder. It felt nice to be held. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed it.

It took her a while to regain composure and pretend she wasn't crying, but when she felt the wet spot on his T-shirt, she flushed. "I—I'm sorry." She cleared her throat. "Normally, I never cry. I'm just so tired."

"I don't mind."

"You're a great friend." Bella sighed and listened to the giant clock tick away time. Edward tightened his hold.

: :

The next evening, as Edward entered Carlisle's kitchen and saw Rosalie sitting around the table with piles of textbooks and a laptop in front of her; before he could say hello to his sister, he asked,

"Is Bella being abused?"

Rose, who'd been in the middle of swallowing water, burst it all out on her laptop and cursed under her breath. Edward threw her a pack of tissues and waited until Rosalie stopped cleaning her keyboard.

"A little warning would've been nice," retorted Rosalie unhappily. "If you screw up my laptop, you're buying me a new one."

"If I screw up your laptop, I'll fix it myself," replied Edward dismissively. "Now, did you hear my question? Did you see her bruise yesterday?"

Rosalie stopped wiping her blouse and looked up at him. "It was impossible not to. It was worse today. She literally grimaced her way through all practices."

"Fuck, and no-one knows how she got them?"

"Some teachers do," answered Rosalie. "But most people don't."

"Do you?"

"I might."

"You _might_? What does that even mean?" asked Edward, irritated by her vague manners. "Do you know or do you not know? There's no _might_ in this. "

"I have a theory," replied Rosalie calmly. "No reason to get your panties up in a knot. Do you have a seizure coming?"

"Doesn't matter." Edward warmed himself some water before he opened a new package of Tim Hortons and sat down in front of Rosalie. "So what's your theory?"

"It's none of my business to gossip about her life," said Rose not at all apologetically.

"And I get that," agreed Edward. Rosalie was so surprised she forgot to add sugar to her own coffee. Edward continued, "I get that, and appreciate it, but how can you sit there like we're discussing weather when Bella might be abused? How can you be so calm? Don't you care at all?"

"So you do have a seizure coming," replied Rosalie, staring at her brother. "I'm not happy about her situation, Edward. I was angry, too, at first, but then I talked to her and tried to convince her to get help. She got upset and told me she didn't need any and now we have a sort of silent agreement not to argue about her life. And no matter what you think, Edward, I do care. But it's complicated. I've been to where she lives and it's nothing like we're used to. She has way more to deal with than we've ever had to. So if you want to hear about her life, ask her."

"Why do you keep saying it's complicated? If she's abused, she must get out of there."

"I'm not the one who needs convincing. But it is complicated, you'll get what I mean once you've met her family."

"Do you ever give straight answers to anything?"

"Not if I can annoy you by doing otherwise."

"Very funny." Edward sighed and, tired of arguing, stood up. "Which apartment does she live in?"

"6B, third floor, why?"

"If you insist I talk to her personally, I think I'll pay her a visit."

"And what'll you say? It's not like you're a social worker or anything."

"I'll think of something."

Rosalie scowled at nothing in particular with unfocused eyes before turning to Edward. "Wait, how do you know her street? And since when do you even care? It's not like you've ever liked her."

"How do you know that?"

"Oh, please. She had the biggest crush on you for over a year, and every time you met, you introduced yourself like a jackass."

"I did not," denied Edward.

"Yes, you did. You never, ever remembered her name. It would've been quite funny, actually, if she hadn't been that crushed afterwards. You were kind of a jerk to her."

Edward eyed his little sister in an attempt to gauge if she was telling the truth or not, and when Rosalie only raised her eyebrows and continued to type on her keyboard, Edward cursed under his breath.

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

Edward gulped down the end of his coffee and grimaced. "Could you at least make sure I won't wake up with a concussion?"

Without moving her head, Rosalie looked up. "I'll be there in five."

For the first time since what felt like ages, Edward offered someone a genuine smile. Rosalie rolled her eyes and showed him the middle finger. She could manage studying perfectly well on her own. "You owe me big time."

"Or you could let me have a serious concussion, let me fall into a coma, and be free of me forever."

"And that's gonna fix my laptop situation how?" asked Rosalie with a hint of a smile. "Dream on."

: :

"Mom, you have to."

"But I don't want to."

"We agreed, mom. You promised to shower twice a week, and I won't make you go near water. You don't even have to do the dishes. All I ask is a quick shower."

The edges of Renee's lips started to quiver ever so slightly, and she shifted further away from the semi-rusty shower stand. She refused to take off her clothes. The last time, Bella manipulated her into thinking Charlie was going to take them bowling — the way he used to — but she felt far too guilty afterwards to attempt the same trick. About a year before Renee was given an official diagnosis, she started to gradually shy away from water to the point she couldn't handle having an aquarium in the living room. Bella's two goldfish, Gerbert and Gertrud, had to go.

"Mom, please don't make —"

The doorbell rang.

Renee's lowered her shoulders in relief, but Bella shook her head. "This isn't over yet. You _need_ to shower. It's not my way of torturing you, you _need_ to. Maybe you're comfortable having lice as pets, but I'm not."

But Renee had already left the bathroom. Today had actually been a day in the present, a rarity in Renee's life. Not one sentence included repairing the stairs at Bella's childhood home or making sandwiches to go hiking. It wouldn't have been that much of a problem were it not for the fact that Renee hadn't gone hiking for a good forty-five years. She certainly hadn't had time to do it with her own kids.

Renee had already opened the door by the time Bella got there. "Jass…" She halted to a stop and blinked at an uncomfortable-looking man, and not the one she thought she'd be seeing.

"Edward?"

He was clad in jeans, a black T-shirt and an expression that could be seen as a complete and utter surprise; it seemed that he hadn't expected to see anyone at all, least of all a face he actually recognized. His eyes widened and it took a moment for him to register that he was not, in fact, hallucinating.

"Renee Higginbotham," he said, recovering as he held out a hand to Bella's mother. "Hi. I'm Edward. I'm — a big fan. Honored to meet you."


	4. IV

**Freedom in a Syringe**  
>by Anton M.<p>

**IV**

Bella had never seen her mother blush before.

Renee simply lowered her head and turned around. Bella flushed because of her mother's embarrassment, but continued to stare at Edward. "Not that I mind, but what're you doing here?"

"May I come in?" asked Edward, squinting in the dark hallway. He caught sight of a patterned yet worn carpet, obscure-colored wallpaper and a generally haggard impression. It didn't look necessarily poor or untidy, but had a definitely old-fashioned feel to it. It felt dusty. It smelled dusty.

Bella wriggled with her arms in front of her. She watched Edward as he observed what he could see of their humble apartment, but she didn't seem too eager to let Edward in.

"What're you doing here?" she repeated.

Edward raised his arm, letting the dim light reflect on a CD. "I — I wanted to bring you this."

Bella gripped it. In an assiduously neat handwriting, she made out that it was a self-made CD with Tchaikovsky's _The Nutcracker_, Act I.

"Act two is under that," explained Edward nervously. "I thought you might, you know, need it. For practicing."

She did not, in fact, need it. Her mother's career and passion: classical, neoclassical and contemporary ballet had ensured that all the cupboards were filled with Renee's favorite ballet composers, so Pjotr Ilych Tchaikovsky's creation — even without including books of him and his composing — had so much as five shelves dedicated to it. But among Sergei Prokofiev, Igor Stravinsky, Alexander Glazunov and Boris Asafiev and Léo Delibes and Felix Mendelssohn and Roland Petit and the compositions of countless of others; both composers most active in ballet and those who only wrote one or two ballets, Pjotr Ilych Tchaikovsky's music became a drop in the ocean. Renee owned vinyl platters, tapes, live recordings and CDs. There were few noted composers, especially Russian, that were missing from her collection.

"Er, thanks," said Bella, hoping that her expression didn't reflect her thoughts. "That's very sweet of you."

Relieved, Edward smiled. "You're very welcome." He shifted in his place, and repeated his earlier question. "May I come in?"

"I, uh…" stuttered Bella in a desperate search for an excuse. "I — I was just about to help my mom have a shower and then we're heading off to the doctor's."

"Do you have a car?" asked Edward. "What're you going with?"

"A bus."

Edward caught a glimpse of her searching eyes, landing in anything but him, and offered, "I could take you, you know. I'm with a car. It's no problem. I can wait for you."

His kindness, unexpected as it was, caught her off guard. His proposition was tempting. It would be so much easier with Alice's wheelchair to go with a car.

She hesitated, still wriggling with her arms. "You wouldn't mind?"

"Of course I wouldn't," replied Edward, smiling gently. "Hey, listen, I… I didn't come here to pry. I can wait in the car if you'd rather I didn't step in."

That snapped Bella out of her uncertainty and she retreated into the hallway, opening the door for Edward. "Sorry. Please, come in. Would you, er, like anything to drink?"

Bella hoped he wasn't about to say anything fancy, like coke or juice, because they had none.

"Um, no, thanks." He stepped into the apartment, closed the door, and halted to a stop in front of a blown-up picture of Anna Pavlova as _The Swan_.

"Mishkin, New York, 1910," explained Bella so automatically she nearly didn't register her own words. "We'll be in the bathroom if you need us. Alice is in the living room, if you, er, wouldn't mind meeting her."

"I'd love to meet her," said Edward, still not taking his eyes from the picture. It was haunting, and as he finally tore away his eyes from _The Dying Swan_, he noticed that all the walls were covered with ballet-related pictures and paintings. He had just recognized one of Pavlova's partners, Pierre Vladimirov, when Bella cleared her throat. She was smiling.

"I know you've learned all this stuff, but could you step into the living room so that I could introduce you to Alice? I really do need to help my mom have a shower. You can continue later."

Mere two steps later, Edward found himself in a world not so drastically different from the hallway. The shelves were covered with ballet music. The music, the pictures, the books, the dust flying around it all, everything felt otherworldly.

Renee Higginbotham was sitting in the armchair farthest from the door, looking like she was ready to make her escape. Her lips trembled, and she rubbed her fingers, wriggling them in a very amiable, Bella-like fashion. She had a frail body and gray hair, but there seemed to be a definite fragile nervousness in her. Renee seemed incredibly lost. But closer to the door, on a grey couch, laid a tiny girl with dark hair and a beautiful face. She was smiling at Bella who was kneeling next to her.

"This is Edward, okay? He's a friend. Be nice to him."

Feeling a little awkward, Edward waved and smiled gently. "Hi Alice."

Alice opened her mouth wide, focused her eyes on Edward's and her smile widened. She started to breathe noisily. Bella snickered while Edward frowned.

"Is she okay?"

"She's laughing," explained Bella, looking up at Edward. "I think she likes you."

Relieved beyond belief, Edward beamed and sat on the floor in front of Alice. He touched Alice's nose. "I like you, too."

Bella grinned. She glanced at Edward who was already consumed in trying to understand what Alice was pointing at before Bella got up and stepped closer to her mother. "Come on, mom."

Renee shook her head and held on to the arm of the chair. "No. I don't want to."

"Please, mom." Bella cast a nervous glance at Edward. She needed more efficient methods than pleading if she didn't want him to figure out her state of things too soon. "Otherwise Charlie won't take you to see Swan Lake next week."

"The one currently at the Ballet Theatre?" interrupted Edward. "I heard it's not that great. Choreography was a little… er, faulty."

Bella simply blinked at him. Meanwhile, Renee seemed to have forgotten that Bella was trying to convince her to have a shower, stood up and, with incredibly tiny steps, started walking toward the hallway. As soon as Bella noticed, she immediately followed. When she guided her mom into the bathroom, Bella forced herself to forget about the unexpected appearance of Edward and offered Renee a seat. By her shaking hands and sour, near-crying state, one could easily conclude that she was facing the fear of her life.

That's because she was.

"I don't want to," said Renee, shaking her head and swaying back and forth. "I don't wanna, I don't wanna, I don't wanna."

"It's just a quick shower, mom, I promise," offered Bella gently. "I'll do everything for you."

"Don't make me!" yelled Renee suddenly, getting up from the chair. "You can't make me!" She launched a slap that landed at around Bella's yaw. She let out a cry of pain. But Renee was only getting started, and as soon as Bella got over her initial surprise, Renee launched another hit that landed on Bella's shoulder. The second blow, although not as powerful as the first one, almost made Bella cry. Her bruise hadn't healed yet.

"I hate you!" continued Renee louder, screaming and backing away toward the corner of the bathroom. "You cannot —"

The door opened and a gush of wind followed. As Edward stepped in, taking in the scene in front of him, Bella shut her eyes and cringed. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't possible. If Edward hadn't figured things out before, he certainly was now.

"What's going on?"

It was suddenly very difficult for Bella to breathe properly. She took a shaky breath, opened her eyes and locked them with Renee. "Charlie loves you."

Renee lowered her eyes and showed sudden interest in a fallen toothpaste on the floor.

"Bella," said Edward, flickering his eyes between Renee and Bella. "What happened?"

"Could you stay for a moment?" whispered Bella while she avoided his eyes.

"Of course."

Bella nodded, hoping that her mother wouldn't lose control over herself with Edward in the room. Bella took off her socks, stepped into the shower, gripped the shower nozzle and wiped her eyes. Seeing her distress, Edward stepped forward, but she shook her head.

"Stay back." Her voice no longer shook, and she locked eyes with her mother. "I'm sorry I have to do this."

She adjusted water's temperature, directed the nozzle at her mother and let it stream at Renee. Her mother shut her eyes and cringed as she felt warm water soak her clothes. When she was completely wet, Bella turned off the water and sighed.

"See? You're soaking. We need to take off your wet clothes."

Renee looked down at herself. Her eyes widened. She cursed the only way she preferred; in French.

If Bella imagined, even briefly, the perfect moment for Edward (of all people) to see where she lived, the perfect moment for him to meet her mother and sister, she most certainly hadn't imagined them together in a bathroom with her mother weeping in her dripping wet clothes, begrudgingly taking them off while throwing a temper tantrum.

Edward, stunned by what he had just witnessed, snapped out of it when he felt Bella's arm on his chest. He eyed her forehead because she refused to lock eyes with him.

"I'm sorry you had to see this," apologized Bella, embarrassed. "I'll manage on my own now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," whispered Bella, nodding. "But thank you. Do you know what time it is?"

Edward dug out his mobile phone. "Quarter past two."

"We'll be ready in fifteen."

He nodded, left the bathroom and joined Alice, who had managed to let some books fall on her and was now eyeing Edward wickedly, trying to gauge if he understood how funny her situation was. Edward grinned back at her and slowly reshelved the books. Alice found it particularly amusing when she could see a sliver of Edward's stomach. She stretched her arm and tickled it. Edward chuckled.

: :

"Your mother is Renee Higginbotham," stated Edward when Bella's mother had entered the doctor's office. Alice was sitting in her foldable wheelchair with her eyes closed. Bella massaged Alice's left wrist; it'd had a botox injection a mere week ago. Both of Alice's hands were a little deformed, but the left one needed botox and a binding joist to help it move better.

It had been heartwarming to watch Edward help Alice by carrying her into the car in his lap. Bella was awed. Why couldn't he have been single? No, why couldn't he have been single _and_ interested in her? He didn't seem at all bothered by the fact that Bella had a mentally and physically disabled sister who would always be a part of her life. It was crucial to Bella that her boyfriend respects and loves Alice, and she didn't know yet if Mike could fill that void. She hadn't told him yet.

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Edward, resting his elbows on his knees and watching as Bella rubbed Alice's hand.

Because it changes things, thought Bella. Rosalie hadn't been disarmed or amazed or shown any reaction that would change her behavior toward Bella, but Rosalie was, well, she was Rosalie. Once she had formed an opinion about something, it rarely changed. Her opinion of Bella couldn't, apparently, be molded by the fact that Bella's mother was the former prima ballerina of twenty five years, or that she had a sister who needed 24/7 care. Edward might start to treat him differently, and that would surely if not kill, then mortally wound her.

"Tell you what?"

"That your mother was, you know, one of the best ballet dancers in the history of American Ballet. She's basically a legend."

"Ah," answered Bella.

Edward scowled. "But why's she scared of water?"

So he hadn't figured it out yet. After the bathroom incident, Renee hadn't lost her trail of thought and asked Bella who she was, but she still seemed lost. She always was. Renee often had unexpected mood swings and a disarming tendency to wait for Charlie wherever she went. And even though Bella hadn't read any significant books on the topic, she'd heard of other Alzheimer's sufferers who were petrified of water. Most research on Alzheimer's that she'd read didn't so much as _mention_ the possibility of aquaphobia.

Bella sighed and leaned back on the uncomfortable plastic chair. For the first time since Edward came to her apartment, Bella locked eyes with him. Edward didn't know what he saw in her eyes, but it caused an odd jolt in his stomach. He wanted to put his arms around her.

Meanwhile, Bella pep-talked her into saying it, out loud, to someone. She had never, not once, told any of her friends what any person who spent enough time with Renee would soon realize. She took a breath and held it.

"Alzheimer's disease," exhaled Bella, offering him a distant, sad smile.

"Come again?"

"She has Alzheimer's."

"But… but… she's Renee Higginbotham —"

She knew the 'buts,' knew all the 'buts' in the world, and no 'but' saved her from the truth.

"Ronald Reagan was Ronald Reagan, Rita Hayworth was Rita Hayworth, that didn't stop _them_ from having Alzheimer's."

"_Bella_," emphasized Edward, overcome by emotion as he thought back to the very _un_-Renee way of greeting him, the temper tantrum he had witnessed, the way she moved so hesitantly and always had that adrift look in her eyes, as if she wasn't quite sure of anything. How could he have missed all that? It was a drastic difference from the Renee he'd seen performing when he was younger. He'd just thought she'd gotten old, because that's what people did. But Alzheimer's…

"Is that why I heard yelling from the bathroom?"

"Yes."

"Did she — I mean, does she… is she the one who, you know," Edward stumbled over words, feeling anxious, "hit you?"

"It's not her fault," argued Bella. "I know I sound like the typical victim of domestic violence, but you have to know, she's not herself. You should've known her when she wasn't sick. She was so healthy, so full of enthusiasm and confidence and kindness. When I was seven, I think, you know what she did? She took us to Minneapolis to see _The Lion King_, the musical before its success on Broadway, me and Alice and Charlie, and I adored the show. But before the culmination, there was this man who tried to drag away his sobbing daughter, and violently at that. I pointed it out to my mom, she stepped into the isle and did nothing but place a hand on the man's shoulder. She used to be very physical, my mom, in the best meaning of the word," said Bella. "He just stared at her as if she'd gone crazy, and I forgot the musical and stared with them, and when I realized the man recognized her, like many people in theatres tended to do, he simply gaped and let go of his daughter."

"Did she convince him to let his daughter stay?"

"I don't think there was an actual conversation going on between them, but basically, yes. I'd always kinda thought it was incredible how many people my mom knew, but that was the first time I realized she didn't actually know any of them. _They_ knew _her_. When she sat back down, I remember that she whispered Charlie something along the lines of, 'Being famous loses its worth if you do nothing with the influence you have.' I wrote it down when I got home, because it sounded like something so beyond of what I could grasp. So wise and grown-up." Bella laughed. "I love her. It all comes down to that. I love her, and I cannot put her into any institution that would treat her like just another link in a chain. She's so much more than that."

"She sounds like an incredible woman."

"Oh, she is. She's always had her flaws, yes, but she's mine, you know? The only one I have."

"Does your father help you cope with all of this?"

There was no way of telling Edward without putting it flatly. "He's been dead for seven years."

"But, before, you said…"

Bella's tone of voice changed. "She has Alzheimer's, Edward, do you want me to put her through the pain of losing her husband every day? I won't. She thinks he's just around the corner, ready to take us bowling or a restaurant or a theatre or cinema. Because every time I tell her, for her, it's like the first time all over again. Could you imagine losing your soul mate every single day? I can't."

Maybe it was the matter-of-fact tone that got to him, but Edward stared at Bella for a long moment, that fragile brown-haired girl who was so much stronger than she ever realized. But he felt such a pull toward her that he encased her tiny hand in his large one and cleared his throat.

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"So am I."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

Bella offered him a sad smile and said nothing.

: :

The incredible bubble of relief that the doctors hadn't discovered anything seriously wrong with Renee seeped emptier as the Monday progressed, or regressed; and by the late afternoon, the bubble became a drowning piece of elastic at the place that Bella's willpower used to occupy. She hadn't had much sleep the previous night because of an assignment she remembered at the last minute; neither had she practiced the part of Sugar Plum Fairy. She also had to work for half a shift because missing on Saturday, and arrived at Vineland Road twenty minutes late, hyperventilating and exhausted. As per usual, Edward sat in the dark with an empty plastic syringe next to him. He was listening to a piano piece Bella didn't recognize.

"Hi," greeted Bella, wiping sweat from her forehead, prepared to hear a monologue of how tardiness wouldn't get her very far. She'd heard it before, years ago from her mother, and surprisingly, she even anticipated hearing it again. It was something certain, something from the past that still touched her.

A lecture about tardiness nonetheless.

As soon as Edward noticed Bella, he smiled the same gentle smile she'd seen him wear on Saturday. She felt butterflies in her stomach and warmth on her cheeks. Would she ever overcome flushing? Was it even possible? It was one thing to read about it, read about how adorable people flushed adorably in their adorableness, it was fully different to have her thoughts plastered on her face, to actually feel the embarrassment run from her body to her limbs and light everything on fire.

Figuratively, of course.

"Hey Bella," said Edward, getting up from the bench and turning around to change the music. He towered over her. Since she'd started "seeing him regularly," Bella was further convinced that a man's handsomeness was less defined by symmetric features and an athletic body (where Edward certainly qualified) and more defined by his stance, attitude and the way he managed to make every single one of his movements matter. Bella could never reach that sort of grace, not even if she decided to make a career out of having the perfect posture.

She flushed further, and to distract Edward, asked, "What was that?"

"Your tendency to specify is extraordinary."

"That piece," clarified Bella, wriggling with her hands. "It was beautiful."

"_Truman Sleeps_ by Philip Glass," replied Edward.

"Not your own work?"

Edward let out a laugh, and it wasn't a modest _har, har, you're funny_, it was full-on, tears in the eyes, belly laughter. Bella had never seen him, or any man for that matter, laugh with that degree of freedom.

"What?" asked Bella, amused but slightly alarmed that Edward was laughing at her.

"I wish," managed Edward, taking a deep breath and wiping his eyes, but still chuckling. "I'm not a closet musician, I swear. If I'd had any free time as a teenager, I doubt binding my time to another activity connected to music would've been my priority. I don't think I could pull of Jingle Bells even if you held a gun on my temple."

Bella smiled. "Relieved to hear you're not as perfect as you seem."

"Perfect?" repeated Edward, weighing the word on his tongue. He searched her brown eyes and blinked slowly. "An epileptic who's rumored to have been kicked out of ballet school whose girlfriend is a person who never bothers to call him?"

"I mean — that's not what I meant," corrected Bella. "Wait, weren't you kicked out of ballet school?"

Edward shook his head.

"But why didn't you continue? You were phenomenal."

"And how do you know that?"

"But you are. I know you are," confirmed Bella as if repeating it enough would create slogans and a burst of applause. "Everyone's talking about you at the Ballet Academy as if you were the child prodigy who was never given the chance to reach his… his…" Bella halted to a stop. "Why are you laughing?"

"What were you saying about gossip the other day? It not a reliable source of information, I hope you realize that."

"I'm just… if you weren't kicked out, what happened?"

Edward gave her a long, hard look, one that made Bella want to squirm under his gaze. She decided then and there that if Edward decided to become an actual teacher, he would flourish.

"I think you already know," replied Edward calmly, but not without amusement in his eyes.

"No. I don't. I'm pretty sure I would've remembered something like that."

"Then you'll figure it out very soon."

"But…"

"You already know, Bella. Once you've remembered, let me know." Edward took a breath, eyeing Bella and wondering how seeing her had had a mood-lifting effect. He'd also managed drop his newest style of speech, a blundering idiot.

He'd decided to be gentle and kind with her, the way he used to be with women before he let his excuses get the best of him.

"Shall we start?"

"Er, okay," agreed Bella hesitantly. It puzzled her that he hadn't scolded with her, and as they danced, when he corrected her mistakes or posture only a little and didn't even mention the fact that she was half an hour late, Bella halted to a stop after a flawed-looking _pas assemblé_. She hadn't figured out what was wrong with Edward at first, but when she did, she felt disappointed. He'd failed her. He'd done exactly what she had feared he'd do. Bella might've liked him a whole lot, but she had no intention of letting him pity her.

Because, apparently, he was attending a pity party where she was not invited.

She let out an impatient huff. "How'm I supposed to improve when you don't correct me?"

"But I am," replied Edward, frowning.

"You are not. You used to show me what I did wrong without feeling guilty that you admitted I was a poor dancer, and now you just stand there and watch me move like I'm a case more hopeless than any other. Am I hopeless?"

"Of course not."

"Then why are you not yelling at me for all the things I do wrong? And please don't tell me I'm doing everything right. I might be a bad dancer, but at least I can recognize it."

"You — you _want_ me to yell at you?" asked Edward, completely lost as to what Bella's problem was. She was being confusing in a way that only ever appeared to be effortless to women. Edward was finally treating Bella the way she deserved, and now she wanted to be treated like scum. "But why?"

"Because, Edward, you're letting me get away with mediocre dancing. That's low."

"I am not letting you get away with it, I just don't think —"

"I'm not your pity party."

"You… what?"

"You're developing this pity party act that I do not need," stated Bella. Pleading with more eyes than her tone, Bella muttered, "Please, whatever you do, don't pity me."

"I'm not."

"Sure you aren't," replied Bella bitterly. "Then why are you suddenly scared to tell me that what I'm doing is completely wrong? And why aren't you going to lecture me about being late? I shouldn't get away with tardiness."

"You lead a busy life, Bella. You've got a lot to deal with. I'm not a heartless monster waiting to eat you."

He could see the mood shift in her eyes, the way she lowered them and pursed her lips.

"What's wrong?"

"Don't."

"What?"

"Just don't," repeated Bella. "Don't start being all weird on me."

"I'm not being all weird."

"You are." Bella cringed. "Don't treat me any differently."

"What?"

"Don't let me get away with excuses. Remember my first practice? You specifically told me that I don't deserve special treatment. And I don't. So don't offer me any."

"But why? If you need time to take care of your family, I'm not gonna be mad if you skip a practice."

"Shit, Edward, that's exactly what I do not need. Another person letting me get away with something just because I'm – and I quote – "going through a tough time." I'm not going through a tougher time than you, and either way, is my whole life supposed to be that 'tough time' then? That's why. Please yell at me the next time I'm late for practice."

"You're being rather hard on yourself."

"What do you expect me to do, Edward? Start skipping school because I have a sister who needs way more companion than I can offer? Because she had four seizures in a row and I didn't sleep a wink? Because I have a famous mother who doesn't remember that she is? Who behaves like a stranger and forgets who I am?"

"That's not what I meant," argued Edward. He felt the strangest urge to take care of Bella, the way she always seemed to care for others. "But you're not a machine."

Bella pursed her lips.

"Bella…"

"Please stop pitying me. I'm not whining about my life, so don't you dare start."

"Bella…"

"Don't you get it? That's exactly why I'm so inadequate. When I was little, they let me get away with stuff because I have a sister who needs more attention than an average sibling. When I was eleven, my dad passed away, and they let me skip practice because I was "going through a tough time." When I was twelve, Renee's brother died on that very same day, and I continued to get away with being a poor dancer. Then I changed schools, and the moment teachers found out Renee Higginbotham was my mom, and one with Alzheimer's at that, you know what they did? They let me get away with being mediocre. So if you start, Edward…" Bella trailed off, sad and desperate for Edward to understand her. "You probably weren't thinking about it, but by letting me get away with mediocrity, you're not doing me any favors. You're offering me an excuse not to try and be the best, _in spite of_ what I'm going through. I don't want to have an excuse to be average because of it."

When Bella first started to convince Edward not to let her get away with anything, he honestly thought she developed some sort of a womanly act of not being satisfied by anything, but now… he got it. He knew exactly what she meant, and even as he didn't realize, he was giving her a reason not to be the best.

"I didn't realize," muttered Edward, staring at her wide brown eyes. "I'm sorry."

Bella offered him a sad smile. "I just thought, you of all people… you should understand. You know, I get it why you don't tell people right away that you have epilepsy. I don't think it's because you're ashamed, but because it changes their attitude, and by trying to be nice to you, they, too, are offering you an excuse. An excuse not to be the best, an excuse to be tardy, or just an excuse not to show up somewhere. People demand more of you if they're not aware they should be nice and let you get away with shit."

Unexpectedly, Edward burst into chuckles.

"What?" asked Bella, glancing at the clock. Both the hour and the minute hand pointed at VIII; their practice was almost over and they'd danced barely over half of their time together.

"Will you go out with me?"

Bella gaped at him.

Edward hadn't realized the words left his mouth until he saw her face, and the brokenhearted expression told him everything he needed to know.

"Is this Bella's Pity Party, Volume Two?"

"I didn't mean to — it was a joke, sorry."

Bella smiled, but the distress in her eyes made him feel uneasy. "Don't worry. Your girlfriend has nothing to worry about."

He couldn't argue yet. But if Lauren got his message, he hoped Bella could take his offer seriously soon enough.


	5. V

**Freedom in a Syringe  
><strong>by Anton M.

**V**

Stepping into the house, Edward saw Lauren sit around their kitchen table, chatting with his father. Lauren played with her phone and twirled a piece of her hair around her finger, and for a good ten seconds, Edward simply stared at her, admitting to himself the feelings that emerged like a giant bubble from under the ocean in Bella's presence were left completely untouched with Lauren. He could appreciate their times together, but clearly they didn't work. Maybe they never had. Edward caught his father's eye, motioned at the living room, and took a deep breath. Carlisle excused himself and patted on Edward's back as he left them alone.

"Thanks for coming in such a short notice."

Lauren smiled when she finally stopped observing the ends of her hair, but the corners of her mouth dropped once she took in his expression.

"What's wrong?"

Edward stepped closer and locked eyes with Lauren. "I think it's better if we break up."

"What?" asked Lauren. "What is this nonsense? We're perfect for each other, Edward. I love you."

"I'm sorry, Lauren. I really am. You're a nice girl, but I'm tired of being the only one making an effort in our relationship."

"But I — you're not serious, are you? You can't be." Lauren shook her head. "I thought guys liked chasing girls who were unattainable."

"There's a difference between making a guy work for it and not contacting your boyfriend for two whole months."

As the reality of Edward's words sunk in, Lauren jumped up and started tearing at her hair, demanding, "It's because of her, isn't it? I knew it!" Lauren threw her Blackberry at him. "You cheating bastard!"

"Bella has nothing to do with this," replied Edward, surprising himself by staying calm. "Leave her out of it."

"Oh, doesn't she? Doesn't she? Ever since you've been hanging out with that bitch, _teaching_ her, you've been ignoring me! You could've ended things with me before you fell into her arms!" Lauren started screaming and ended with a voice only dogs could hear. "But you know what? I've been sleeping with Laurent for a month now, so I'm not the only one taking liberties!"

"I've never cheated on you," said Edward in a voice so cold Lauren stopped tearing at her hair. "Not once. Not with Bella, not with anyone." He straightened his back. "But I'm glad my suggestion has cleared the air."

"Edward…" cried Lauren, horrified by her own admission; she knew Edward had several flaws, but lying was not one of them. "I didn't mean it, I swear I didn't mean it. I've never…"

"Even if that were true, which I doubt, we're over. We don't work, Lauren. I was the only one who tried, I stopped calling and you didn't care. I was always the one to plan our dates, always there for you, always helping you, and I didn't mind. For a while, I didn't. But when were _you_ there for _me_? My mother left, you were busy, I finished Bachelor's, you were busy. I needed you, I needed someone to talk to, you were busy. A relationship isn't supposed to be one-sided, and I wish I'd realized that sooner."

"I can change, Edward, I can! I'll put an effort. We can make it work! Please." One tear after another descended from her cheeks, and she sniffed. "Don't do this."

"It's too late. I'm not gonna post revenge on the Internet, but please don't go around calling Bella names. She's so much better than that, and so are you. Revenge will get you nowhere."

"So she has nothing to do with it, huh?" she bitterly retorted. "Really?"

"You've known me for three years, how many times have I lied to you? I can be too demanding, yes, and I am a perfectionist, I can even tell you when you look ugly on a bad-hair day, but a liar I am not," said Edward. "So no. She hasn't. Even if I had never met her, I would've probably eventually realized how distorted our relationship was."

Lauren slid onto a barstool, hid her face in her hands, and cried. Stammering, she asked, "So — so this is really the end?"

"Yes."

She sniffed, taking one Kleenex after the other as Edward sat down beside her, patiently waiting for her to finish crying. With a heavy heart, he explained, "I'm not trying to be a bastard. I'm not gonna hate you from now on. I want you to find a relationship where you feel that you _need_ to put an effort into it. Maybe it was my fault, too. I shouldn't have been as easy. I shouldn't have just accepted that I had to be the only one to put myself out there. I should've realized it long ago."

"But you don't want to give me another chance?" hiccupped Lauren. "I can change! Please believe me."

"Please don't. I don't feel that way about you anymore. I can't. I'm sorry for what I'm doing, and I know I'm responsible for the dysfunctional relationship we had as much as you are, but no. It's time to move on."

Five minutes later, Lauren stopped hiccupping and gave Edward one final hug, muttering, "Maybe you're right."

"Should I expect swarm of revenge letters on Facebook?"

Lauren offered him a smile through her tear-stained face. "No. And I — I'm sorry I cheated on you. I didn't mean to, it just —"

"Do I need to get myself tested?"

"God, no. It never happened before Laurent."

"Good."

"But I guess — you don't hate me now, do you?" asked Lauren.

"I don't. We can still greet each other if we meet."

"Good."

With one final wave, she stepped out of the kitchen, and a moment later, the front door opened and shut. Edward numbly made himself Arabica coffee as he pondered on the significance of what had just occurred. It felt surreal. He was single, and the end had actually been much gentler than he had feared; but in spite of her exaggerating nature, Lauren was not a random bitch. Edward wouldn't have stayed with her for three years if she were.

It still surprised Edward how little her admission about cheating on him bothered Edward. Sure, he felt let down and disappointed, but not nearly to the extent that he should have. It simply further convinced him that they were both drifting apart. Edward felt like his lack of anger had to do with the way Bella made a better person out of him; he calculated a little more before analyzing whether or not the situation was worth getting angry at. Edward no longer needed to feel guilty for his growing feelings for the ballerina.

But unfortunately, he had no reason to believe that Rosalie's words of her crush were true. Surely, he would know by now if they were.

: :

As November came and went, it brought an official ending to the hurricane season, a weather sunny as ever, and for Edward, a cough that persisted throughout the first week of December. He'd respected Bella's wishes and demanded more from her than he ever had. She appeared to be content with that, and they continued to get along very well. And by 'very well,' Edward meant that nothing had changed, despite his obvious (to himself, at least) touchy-feely behavior with her. She appeared to be so completely oblivious that Edward thought she was simply trying to let him down easy.

Until one Thursday, at the ending of their practice, Bella stretched her legs and stared at Edward oddly before she questioned, "So how's your girlfriend?"

An innocent enough question made him see ghosts where there weren't any. "Why?"

"Just wondering. You've been really weird since that day you tried to let me get away with being mediocre."

Edward wanted to choke himself with his Kleenex. "Weird?"

"Yeah," agreed Bella. "I don't know. It's like you feel guilty about that and want to be extra nice to me."

Bella thought Edward's failed attempts to woo her were caused by _guilt_? He wanted to die.

"I don't feel guilty."

"Is there a problem with your girlfriend then? Your offer goes both ways, you know, so if you need to talk, I'm here."

"I left her."

Bella's eyes widened. She cleared her throat and averted her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

She was sorry? He certainly wasn't.

"It's been a month. No big deal."

"But why?" asked Bella in spite of herself. "I mean, she seemed like a nice girl. Very pretty."

"I'm not quite sure if you're paying me a compliment or trying to insult me."

"Pardon?"

"Was that a remark on my taste in women or on my superficiality?"

Bella chuckled. "Both, probably."

Edward mock-grimaced. "So anyone on your radar?"

No, he wasn't trying to fish for information. Not at all.

"My _radar_?"

"You know, your doorstep swarming with guys and all that."

"Ah, you mean Mike?"

And just like that, Edward remembered a fact he had, apparently, completely wiped out from his memory. He grimaced. Of course she didn't take his attempts to woo her for what they were, she was _taken_.

It suddenly felt like his stomach had been cut off and replaced with polyvinyl acetate.

"Yeah. Is he treating you well? Because if he isn't, I could just —"

"— kill that bastard," finished Bella, snickering. "I remember."

Edward stopped caring if he was obvious.

"So he's good for you?"

"He's okay. Still as eager, but I… honestly, I don't think we're gonna last long."

Edward felt like such a bastard when he fished for information; he felt even worse that he _wasn't_ feeling bad about Bella's lack of enthusiasm.

"If you think it's worth it, you'll get through anything. But remember, guys will only treat you badly if you let them."

"Where were you when he tried to convince me to have sex with him?" asked Bella so casually Edward actually flinched. "It's not like I was sure before, but it's just… I don't know."

"He _what_?" Polyvinyl acetate was immediately replaced by arsine. He felt hair at the back of his neck bristle.

Bella chuckled at his reaction. "Most men are fairly physical, I'm sure you're aware of that."

"Did he…"

"No," said Bella simply, and Edward nearly wept from relief. "I'm not made of sugar. I don't melt at the first sight of rain."

Edward's mouth stretched into a grin but he found he couldn't chuckle because it quickly changed into coughing. "Ten points for the metaphor." He felt so much respect for the woman in front of him that he didn't know how to express it. Would 'I think I love you' be too sudden?

Probably.

"You're amazing."

"Yeah, yeah, and you adore my blush and I am a phenomenal dancer," ironized Bella.

"I have nothing against your blush and your dancing is has improved immensely."

Bella laughed. "Nice try, Edward. You hate my blush."

"I do not."

"Sure you don't."

"I'm serious."

"Good luck with that."

"Why won't you believe me?"

"Edward, were you not there next to me the first month you taught me? Every time something you did made me blush, you either huffed or grimaced or made a snappy remark about it."

Edward rubbed his neck, smiling awkwardly. "I'm sorry if I did. It doesn't bother me anymore."

"What changed?"

Edward opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again and shrugged. Bella let a smile cover her lips.

"Where did you leave your — 'I'm big almighty Edward and will tell you everything straight to your face?'"

He got hesitant and cautious when he realized he liked a girl named Bella.

Bella shook her head a chuckled. "You've changed, you know."

Edward shrugged. "That's what people do."

: :

The sunset started to come about at around half to six as the day of the performance creeped closer. A few unexpected chilly winds had Bella searching for scarves and a warmer jacket for Alice to take her older sister to see her performance. She was also going to take her mother, but when Renee struggled with the idea and refused to go, she left her daughter at a crossroads. Had Bella's mother been at a place to understand what this meant, she would've been elated and nothing, not even a knife in her head and a hundred degree fever would've kept her from going. Bella knew that. But she also understood she couldn't force her mother to go against her own will.

In the end, when it turned out that Renee was not so much opposed to the idea of going as she was to the idea of going on foot, a compromise was met. Jasper kindly offered to take Renee to the Academy so that Bella could go on foot with Alice. It was silly, she knew, insisting on walking to the Academy, but it was a tradition of sorts. She'd never actually been a part of the Christmas performance before, but up until two years ago, they'd been to see every single one of the Christmas performances. When she was a kid and Renee had minor parts in the performance, nothing stopped them from going on foot, and Alice was never left home alone.

They left their apartment building at half to seven, an hour and a half earlier because Bella had to warm up, get dressed and have make-up applied. Edward had promised to sit next to Alice and watch after her, which gave Bella all the more reason to gush over the man.

Chilliness hadn't ceased. Bella pulled on the wheelchair's brakes in front of Starbucks that was a ten-minute walk from the Academy to make sure that Alice wasn't cold. She wasn't; instead, she found it hilarious to grasp Bella's hat and throw it to the ground. It made her laugh. Bella smiled at her little older sister, picked up the hat and let her eyes linger on a hole in the pavement. For anyone else, this was just a hole, something to step or jump over; for Bella, it became a day-to-day hassle. If anyone were interested, she could map and describe the pattern of pavement holes in the entire city. The roadworks that were a simple inconvenience for walking people could become hazardous to those in wheelchairs.

Wrapped in her thoughts, Bella didn't immediately notice the three semi-drunken men who were sitting on a park bench until the words "a complete waste of social welfare" reached her ears. She immediately snapped her head in the men's direction and saw them observing her whilst making malevolent remarks. In Bella's experience, there were three types of people where the disabled were concerned. Firstly, the immediately recognizable people who had firsthand experience with the disabled who didn't hesitate to come and talk to them, who smiled at Alice and tried to make her happy — because Alice, too, could have bad days, times when she sobbed for no visible cause and Bella couldn't fully comprehend the reasons behind her huffish mood. Secondly, there were people with no experience but a kind (if a little awkward at first) attitude, and thirdly, people with no experience and no will to hide their ill-natured thoughts.

Experience and ill-natured thoughts didn't usually coincide because once people had an acquaintance, a friend or a family member struggling not to be defined by their disability, understanding and compassion carved a more tolerant mind. Sympathy met empathy. Something that only ever seemed to happen to "someone else out there" suddenly happened to you, or your friend, or a family member. Perspective altered.

"Hey, you — yes, you! Does your little… _friend_ understand me, uh? Does she?"

Bella sighed, made sure to tighten Alice's scarf and continued her walk, deciding to ignore the men. But as the men stood and, slowly but surely, started to close up on them, Bella casually threw a glance over her shoulder. None of them could've been over their teenage years, and Bella didn't think they were to cause any harm. But just in case, she quickened her pace. When she reached a place with a few people walking around, Bella slowed down and decidedly halted to a stop next to a street light.

"You — you know, people like… like her are a complete waste of our money. There's no purpose to her. What the hell does she do all day?"

More than you, Bella wanted to answer, but kept her mouth shut.

"Uh?"

Bella pointedly observed the other people to make them notice that they weren't alone, but unfortunately, there weren't too many people around. She turned around.

"Please leave us be. We've done nothing to you."

"Does she speak?"

"No."

"So she just, what, like, vegetates all day, every day?"

Bella didn't even realize she'd clenched her fist before a hit against the most provocative man's jaw made her cry out. Why didn't the men in movies never even flinch? Because that hurt like hell. But surprised as she was by her own reaction, Bella didn't stop to linger. She clutched the push handles, jogged toward a more crowded street and didn't stop before she was panting in front of the Academy. Her fist burned. Alice found her reflection on one of the windows fascinating and, oblivious as ever, leaned her head on the left and locked eyes with herself. A smile crept on her lips.

Bella found Edward sitting behind the performers' wardrobe, dressed in a fawn-worthy black tuxedo. He shoved a hand through his hair, and only as he raised his arm did Bella see that he had a large black scarf around his neck and the tiniest glimmer of sweat on his forehead.

Bella pushed Alice's wheelchair next to Edward and frowned. "Edward, are you sick?"

"Hi, Alice," he offered, touched Alice's nose with his index finger and smiled faintly. He coughed before looking up, "And Bella." Bella's stomach practiced somersaults when he smiled at them, all kind eyes and handsome appearance despite his apparent sickness. Bella checked the time and decided she could afford sitting for a moment, so she did.

"If you're sick, why'd you come?"

Edward coughed and adjusted his scarf. "I promised."

"But you don't look too good."

Edward smirked in spite of his obvious sickness. "I look ugly?"

Bella huffed a chuckle but insisted, "You don't have to stay. I'll find someone else to look after Alice. You need to rest."

"I need to see you dancing. I can rest later."

"Edward…" sighed Bella, observing him and noticing how truly exhausted he looked. "My dancing isn't important; your health is."

Edward smiled gently. "Your dancing is important to me, and my health can wait. Don't argue."

The door next to them opened. "Hi, Bella, I've been looking everywhere for —" Rosalie, already dressed in a sparkly pink tutu, faltered and stared at Bella's lap, "What the fuck happened to your hand?"

Edward's eyes snapped in the direction Rosalie was pointing at, and they both gaped at her. Bella let a disinterested glance confirm that blood was covering it before she offered Edward and Rosalie a timid smile, explaining nothing.

"Am I late?" she asked Rosalie.

"Not significantly, but what the fuck happened to your hand?" repeated Rosalie, letting Alice play with the edge of her tutu.

"Bella," drawled Edward, his tone of voice expressing his concern. He willed her to lock eyes with him, but she didn't.

"I'm fine, it just needs some washing," said Bella, pursing her lips. "I'm serious, though, Edward. I'll find someone else to be with Alice while I'm on stage. It won't be a problem, I'm sure."

"I'm not about to die," claimed Edward, not taking his eyes from Bella's hand. "But are you sure you're okay?"

Bella self-consciously smoothed over her jacket and sighed, finally looking at Edward. "I'll explain later," she said.

"Yes, and you'll explain now, too," insisted Rosalie, pulled her toward the wardrobe for performers and didn't let her do anything other than kiss Alice's forehead and offer Edward a wave.

"Good luck to both of you," said Edward semi-enthusiastically before his voice was muffled by coughing.

"We're too good for luck!" Rosalie yelled back and pulled the door closed.

: :

Edward and Alice sat next to Renee, who had come here with a tall blonde man who'd introduced himself as Bella's friend. It was almost ridiculous the way, ever since Edward realized he liked Bella, he suddenly viewed every man as a possible suitor for her, judging and appraising them in a manner he would've laughed at before. He couldn't really help the unconscious thought, and the fact that she was taken didn't seem to constrain his imagination. Did she fascinate him because she was taken? But just as the thought occurred to him, Edward immediately dismissed it. Bella just… got him.

While having no illusions or intentions to initiate anything with Bella in a relationship, Edward was still determined to follow through with a precarious idea. He was going to tell her tonight. It could easily backfire because other than a little blushing in his presence and the fact that she thought he looked handsome (which, frankly, any girl could think of any guy without having romantic intentions), he had nothing to hold on to. She could ridicule him for all he knew.

But he did not know. He hadn't a clue.

Edward focused on the performance, watched as his sister made entrance at the beginning of Act II and smiled at her. She held her posture and focused on her steps and breathing almost unconsciously. She danced with an incredible amount of grace.

But what literally sucked all air out of him was the sight of Bella in a tight-fitting red costume, dancing along with a shorter guy whose lack of grace actually surpassed Bella's. He hadn't been lying; she had improved greatly, and not only overshadowed her previous skills but her Spanish Hot Chocolate co-dancers as well. She was, however, wearing red gloves that the two other girls were not wearing.

When the lights were turned on, the entire cast reappeared and bowed to the standing and overly enthusiastic audience. Edward stood, and in spite of feeling a little weak from the sickness, he grinned at his sister, who had finally noticed her older brother. Bella also caught sight of Edward, locked eyes with him and offered him a smile so genuine Edward thought he'd be the luckiest bastard in the universe if she would only reciprocate.

: :

"You were incredible," complemented Edward and coughed into his scarf before sliding his arms around Bella's silk-covered waist to envelop her into a tight hug. He could almost feel her blush and smiled to himself.

"Incredibly ungraceful, you mean," muttered Bella into his chest.

He inhaled the awfully artificial scent of her hair before he pulled back, but he couldn't help but let his hand linger on her back. "When I say you were incredible, I mean you were incredible. Own it."

Bella snickered. "Thank you. Did Alice and mom behave themselves?"

Edward felt cold sweat on his back. He shut his eyes for a second, but smiled. "They thought you captured the essence of Spanish Hot Chocolate perfectly."

Bella held on to Edward's waist as she cocked back her head and laughed. "Did they now?"

She looked stunning laughing like that, but he somehow felt awkward saying it. Where was his courage now? The idea of laying his feeling out there for Bella to digest didn't overpower the chance to spend time with her. He wanted to go somewhere and show her how corny he could be and yet he didn't. He was afraid of the outcome.

Edward swayed, felt tingling in his fingers and immediately knew he was going to have a seizure; but as he didn't want to ruin Bella's performance, he suggested, "You could go and see them."

"But I thought —" started Bella, frowning. "I thought you were able to give us a lift home, weren't you?"

"Of course," answered Edward. "I'm not gonna leave you here, I'll just go for a sec. I'll — I'll be right back."

It wasn't until Bella looked up at his pale form that she understood what he was trying to do; she touched his hands and felt how cold they were, noticed the hesitancy of his gaze and the trembling of his lip. He let go of Bella and leaned on the wall, swaying slightly.

"Shit, you're gonna —"

She couldn't even finish her sentence before he collapsed. Immediately, a concerned crowd gathered around them. Bella firmly disallowed suggestions to call the ambulance, explained that Edward had epilepsy, and started the process all over again as more people gathered around them. It was one thing to make sure Edward didn't harm himself in an empty room, it was completely different to focus on Edward's convulsions and count seconds with a curious audience.

But when Edward's convulsions exceeded five-minutes, Bella hesitated. He'd never had seizures as long as this one, she'd never seen him convulse so violently with so much foam coming from his mouth. Bella's stomach flipped.

Something was wrong.

When Bella raised her eyes to insist that someone called the ambulance, she caught Rosalie's eyes, and Edward's sister simply nodded and borrowed a mobile phone from the man next to her. Bella bit her lip, holding Edward's head in her lap as she continued to count seconds. She shut her eyes. Why hadn't it ended yet? Had he tried to experiment what would happen if he stopped taking his medications? But he'd told her he wouldn't do that anymore. Was there something else, something worse? Was a seizure as long as this one a sign of something more serious?

"Ambulance is on the way."

Bella's throat tightened. Rosalie crouched next to her, calmly instructed her on how best to hold Edward's head and offered assuring words. Bella could barely hear her. What if something serious happened to him and he couldn't get help quickly enough because she'd prohibited calling the ambulance at first?

He was still having convulsions seven minutes later when the ambulance arrived. Bella was almost panicking by that time and didn't know what to do or how to follow when Rosalie placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and whispered, "Tell them you're his girlfriend. I'll take your mom and Alice home if you give me the keys."

Rosalie was crushed into a hug before a set of keys landed in her palm. "You're the best."

"I'll be there later, okay?"

Bella nodded and followed the stretcher out of the building.

: :

A beep was followed by an obscure clatter and the chopped sound of gunfire. A sniff, a beep, the same sound of gunfire, and Edward was fairly sure he'd entered some twisted version of Hell. He was unable to see the source for the peculiar sound. Slowly but determinedly, Edward blinked, and as his eyes focused on a bare, dimly lit room, he made out a female figure in a red dress who'd curled up next to the window with a mobile in her hands. She occasionally wiped her cheeks, blew her nose and continued to push the buttons with unexpected violence. It was dark outside.

Edward felt like his muscles had been squeezed through a meat grinder, never before had they felt as numb and limp as they did now.

"Are —" He cleared his throat. "Are you _crying_?"

Bella's head snapped up, the frown between her eyes smoothed over, and before Edward could register her moving, she had fallen into his arms. "You're alive."

Hesitating, Edward put a cold hand around her waist and squeezed weakly. She had pulled her hair out of the bun and the artificial scent overwhelmed him. He missed her natural scent.

"Er, am I not supposed to?"

Bella sniffed.

"You're crying. Why are you crying?"

"I had an union-chopping marathon with Rose," answered Bella, rolling her eyes and blinking tears away. She wanted to stay longer, to lay down, feel his body next to hers and take care of him, but she didn't. She withdrew and blushed when Edward observed her face. "Rosalie's bringing coffee, and, um, Lauren is in the waiting room." Bella bit her lip at the mention of his gorgeous ex-girlfriend, averted her eyes and forced herself to get over the urge to comfort Edward. She felt embarrassed to have shown her fragility concerning him.

"They're really worried. I'll, um, go and let them know you're awake."

Before she could turn around to take her phone with her, Edward clutched weakly at her hand. "Don't go yet." The earnest way he said it and the tenderness of his expression convinced Bella to stay, so instead of going, she slid a chair closer to his bed and sat down. She swallowed and flushed further when Edward looked at her like she was the only thing on his mind, which she knew not to be true.

Edward absent-mindedly didn't let go of her hand as he asked, "Why'm I at the hospital?"

"You had a really violent seizure. I thought you… I've never seen you —" Bella faltered. "It was intense. I didn't let them call an ambulance at first, but then your convulsions wouldn't stop and I thought… I thought you were going to — it was my fault."

"Don't say that." His expression softened, but it took a moment for him to digest her words. He was rubbing her palm. "For how long?"

"Probably a half an hour," answered Bella and cautiously asked, "Did you do anything to induce it?"

"Not consciously."

"But why did you…? I've never seen you have a seizure that serious."

Edward inhaled, let the breath out unhurriedly and locked eyes with Bella. "I don't know."

Though not content with his answer, she nodded. "They took a blood sample to do some tests. Your dad's here, too, somewhere. I should let him know you're awake."

A frail smile played on his lips. "Scared of being alone with me, huh?"

The honest answer was yes, because while it wasn't easy for Bella to control her emotions around him when he was in a vertical position; it was even more difficult with him in a hospital ward, looking both emotionally and physically vulnerable. She didn't have a suit of armor against his tender eyes and soft touch.

Bella squeezed his cool hand. "They're worried; they have the right to know you're awake."

"How come you're allowed to be in here?"

Bella blushed. "Connections."

"Connections?" repeated Edward, surprised.

"Your dad," replied Bella, avoiding his eyes as she realized how stupid her actions were. "I'm sorry. Does it bother you I was in here?" She panicked slightly and drew back her hand. "I was just so concerned. I didn't realize."

"Are you insane? Of course I don't mind."

Bella pursed her lips, embarrassed. "And you're not just being polite?"

Edward coughed a chuckle. "Because I'm famous for being 'just polite.'"

Bella laughed, and again, it puzzled Edward why it took him so long to realize how beautiful Bella was. Having thought that, Edward reached out to encase Bella's hand in his, but a knock on the door and the immediate opening of it prevented him from pouring his heart out to Bella. When an unknown Doctor came in with Edward's father, Bella offered Edward an apologetic smile, greeted the men and left the room.

Rosalie sat on the other end of the corridor, one jean-clad leg over the other and two coffee cups in her hands. She glanced at her friend.

"You kinda look like a fallen angel," she commented, "Very poetic." Bella smoothed over her ballet clothes as she mumbled an embarrassed thanks, took one of the coffee cups and sat down next to Rosalie.

"Is he alright?"

"Yeah," replied Bella and took the coffee with a timid smile. "He's awake. Where's Lauren?"

"I think you scared her off."

Bella cringed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, I was just so worried —"

Rosalie chuckled. "Relax, you didn't really scare her off. She just went to find a snack."

"Oh."

After a minute of silent sitting, while Bella warmed her hands with the coffee and Rosalie thoughtfully eyed her friend, Rose said, "I told him, you know."

"Told him what?" asked Bella, taking a gulp from her coffee.

"That you'd had a crush on him for over a year."

In an urge not to spit out her hot coffee, Bella burned her throat and gasped for breath. "What? Why? How do you even know about that?"

"You're not a terribly difficult person to figure out."

"I'm almost certain you did not just mean to insult me."

"Of course I didn't," said Rosalie with a smile. "I just thought he'd treat you with a little more understanding if he knew."

Bella put away her coffee, raised one leg over the other, leaned on her elbows and hid her face in her hands. "So that's why he's being all weird. I wanna die. Any sort of comprehensible conversation between us has just died in the vine."

Edward's sister chuckled. "Don't be such a drama-queen. It's not so bad."

"Rose, you told your older brother who's spent most of his time ignoring me or being irritated by my blushing that I've liked him for a long time. Please tell me that won't make things between us awkward."

Unregretful, Rosalie quoted, "'That won't make things between us awkward.'"

In spite of her mortification, Bella snorted a laugh. "Exactly what I was going for."

"No problem."

Rosalie and Bella had just finished their coffee and thrown away the carton cups when the door of Edward's room opened and a nurse was called. The two girls were joined by a third when they approached the ward and watched Edward have another violent seizure. They backed away as a few nurses entered the room, and for over a half an hour, the girls listened to the voices and shouts coming from Edward's room. Bella felt so empty she was almost nauseated; she barely even noticed Carlisle approaching them before he was standing in front of them. She'd met him before a couple of times, but she'd never thought of how old he could've been. He seemed to have aged since the last time she saw him.

"Do any of you know if he had a jacket? Or which antibiotics he's taking? How long he's taken them?"

"He's taking antibiotics?" Bella nearly squeaked.

"Not one of you knew?" asked Carlisle, searching the girls faces. "He has pneumonia. We can't treat it unless we know what he's taking."

Two girls silently shook their heads, but one nodded and sighed. "I knew."

"Do you remember its name?" asked Carlisle.

"I — I'm not sure. I think it was a blue and red package. M or N-something. That's all I remember. Sorry."

"Would you be able to recognize it?"

Hesitating, Lauren nodded. "I can try."

"Come with me," said Carlisle before he locked eyes with his daughter. "Could you go and check if it's in his room?"

"Carlisle," muttered Bella before he could leave. "Do you know what's causing these long seizures?"

"Not yet."

"But is it, like," Bella felt a lump in her throat. "Is it possible to die from seizures?"

"There's a condition called SUDEP, Sudden Unexpected Death in Epilepsy, but it's extremely rare. Don't worry yet. He's a tough one. We'll figure it out. He'll be fine."

Bella pursed her lips and blinked rapidly.

: :

Bella sat alone with her thoughts for almost an hour, listened to the doctor whose name she couldn't recall tell her that they'd tripled valproic acid's dosage and were doing everything they could to stop Edward's seizures. Bella merely nodded mutely. She'd exchanged text messages with Jasper to make sure things were alright at home, but she felt jittery. It became difficult to focus on anything in particular.

She breathed a sigh of relief as Lauren and Rosalie simultaneously appeared from behind the corner; with Lauren's help, Carlisle was able to find and bring Meronem at the same time Rosalie returned with extra clothes for Bella. She hadn't been able to find Edward's antibiotics.

But after the comfort of finding his antibiotics and giving them to Edward, he had a third violent seizure, and Bella started to doubt the rarity of SUDEP. Carlisle assured her that she had no reason to sit here because she couldn't do anything, but Bella knew she couldn't just leave.

Just like Rosalie and Lauren, she cursorily flipped through the magazines, walked through the corridors, visited the 24/7 Starbucks and waited. She could do nothing but.

: :

In the early hours of Saturday morning, almost three hours after switching Edward's antibiotics from meropenem to another, a more widely used antibiotic, Edward's sleep was no longer interrupted by powerful seizures. Bella, Lauren and Rosalie had agreed to doze off in turns, but as Carlisle gently awoke them to announce the great news and assured them they could go home, not one of them did. Lauren asked if she could visit Edward first so that she could return to her little sister and Rosalie and Bella agreed.

Still sleepy, Bella absent-mindedly observed Lauren's back as she entered the ward.

"I left Mike."

"You did?"

"Yeah."

"How'd he take it?"

"Quite well, actually." Bella shrugged, still staring at the door that led to Edward's ward. "Did they get back together?" she muttered, determined to seem casual.

"I honestly don't know," replied Rosalie, cautiously eyed Bella and sighed. "But why else did she…"

"I know."

Rosalie watched her friend, hunching and avoiding her eyes. Although Rosalie had brought extra clothes for Bella, she hadn't changed yet, but she'd combed off some of the unyielding hairspray. She was one of the strongest persons Rosalie knew, but Bella's unexpected fragility struck her. Suddenly, in a very non-Rosalie manner, she enveloped Bella into tight hug and apologized, "I'm sorry."

Taken aback, Bella frowned. "For what?"

"That my brother's such a jerk to you."

Bella huffed out a breath. "He's not. Not really. He's actually been very considerate lately."

"Then I'm sorry he doesn't like you like that."

"It's totally your fault."

Rose chuckled and retreated when happy but awkward-looking Lauren left Edward's ward and stopped in front of them.

"Um, I didn't mean to wake him, but he did. He's drowsy, but he insisted that you go and see him, Bella." She shifted in her spot. "So yeah. I think I'll go home now, make pancakes for my sister and sleep through the entire day." She smiled and waved. "See you sometime."

: :

By his deep, even breathing, she concluded that he'd fallen asleep again, so Bella shut the door as silently as she could and tiptoed to his bed. She observed the bottle of valproic acid with a syringe next to it and silently sat down. As if on cue, Edward blinked a few times and focused his eyes on her.

"Why are you still here?" His voice, although hoarse, felt wonderful to hear, but the frankness of his words scared Bella a bit. She rubbed her bandaged wrist and wriggled under his gaze.

"But I—I thought," she stuttered. "Didn't you want to see me?"

"I did, but that didn't answer my question."

Bella shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Am I?"

"Carlisle seems to think so."

"Then I probably am." A smile crept on his lips as he observed her. "I don't think I've told you this before, but I think you're beautiful."

Bella pursed her lips. "You don't have to."

"I'm sorry?"

"You don't have to," she repeated, the ever-cursed blush appearing in her cheeks. "Rosalie told me that she, you know, told you that I crushed over you for a while. It sort of makes sense now that you act all weird sometimes and treat me like you care. But I want you to know, you don't have to be so kind to me as if you cared that way. I'm sure it's awkward enough without adding fuel to the fire."

A bit of the light in Edward's eyes faded, but he attempted to show he was humored. "So you, it's like a past thing now, huh?"

"Yeah," lied Bella, desperate for things to return to normal between them, without Edward feeling bad or obliged to attempt to feel something. "I'm sorry I made you feel awkward, but I don't want you to feel you must be all nice to me and stuff."

"You think I was being nice to you because I felt guilty not feeling anything?"

"Well, yeah," agreed Bella, self-consciously running her hands through her hair. It smelled strange. "Why else? I'm not delusional. You're, what, six years older than me? How appealing it must be to be drooled after by a kid."

"You're not a kid."

"You know what I mean."

"Bella, if you're not mature for your age, I don't know who is."

"But that doesn't change the facts, does it?" asked Bella semi-rhetorically, wondering if she could take the truth about his relationship with Lauren but knowing that, in order to make it completely clear to herself, she had to. "Did you and Lauren get back together? She left in a very good mood today."

Still disheartened by her words, Edward sighed. "No."

"Why? I thought…"

"We made peace with who we want to be with, and she seemed to accept my choice. She was happy for me."

"Oh." Bella lowered her head, biting her lip. Pretending to be cool and dismissive about the issue proved ineffective, but she had to try. "Who's the lucky girl?"

"You."

Bella let out a laugh, half-bitter and half-amused. "You're so good at sarcasm you could tell me you're the newest Dalai Lama and I'd believe you."

"I'm far from sarcasm, Bella."

Bella took a breath, held it, and locked eyes with Edward. Tired of the argument, she exhaled. "Please, Edward, I'm serious. Don't feel bad that you can't return my feelings. I won't become your stalker if you tell me the truth."

Edward, catching the tense in her sentence, let a hint of a smile cover his lips. "That's quite disappointing, you know."

"I'm — what?"

He struggled to sit up, but when he did, he coughed a little and smiled. Hesitantly, Edward motioned at his side and when a confused Bella sat next to him, Edward's smile widened.

"What did I tell you about hunching?"

Bella pursed her lips and straightened her shoulders. She felt goose-bumps cover her skin when Edward stared at her like that, like he couldn't get enough of her.

"I'd like to try something."

Edward placed a gentle hand on her neck and hesitantly let his lips cover hers. It was gentle and fierce and all too wonderful, and when Bella eagerly responded, Edward smiled under her lips, but it soon vanished and he drew back with pain in his eyes.

"That was stupid of me."

Still dizzy from the kiss, Bella paled and blinked. "Pardon?"

"Highway to pneumonia, that's what that was."

Bella laughed, pulled her legs to the bed and let Edward wrap a hand around her shoulders.

"Edward?"

"Yeah."

"Do you believe in miracles?"

"I don't think my believing or not believing in them will prevent them from happening."


End file.
